


Like Father, Like Son

by CorporalFire



Series: Australium-Tinted Glasses [2]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Australium War, Canon-Typical Violence, Crazy Uncle Sniper, Dadgineer, F/M, Family Drama, M/M, Non-Binary Pyro, Post-Canon, Romance, Set after comic #5 but it's not canon with #6, Smut Free Guarantee™
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 04:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8149570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorporalFire/pseuds/CorporalFire
Summary: When the team is rudely awoken in the middle of the night by a robot ambush, they realize their conflict with Gray Gravel Co. for Australium is far from over, even without Gray Mann personally leading the attacks. Taking up arms, the team prepares to finally claim victory, only to find themselves sidetracked by some unpleasant relational conflicts within the team.





	1. A Rude Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! As I mentioned in my previous work, this is the longer fanfic (which will be multiple chapters in length) that follows the events of my oneshot, “That Was Definitely Not Medicine”. I recommend reading it first, but I’m sure it’s possible to understand the vast majority of this without it. (As of comic #6, this isn't as close to canon as I was hoping it'd be. Sorry about that!) Without further ado, please enjoy!

RED Team Base - Badlands, New Mexico. Tuesday, March 27th, 1973.

* * *

 Soldier awoke with a start as a loud bang rumbled through the building, causing items inside to rattle on the shelves. He turned over and shook his fiance's shoulder briskly. “Zhanna, get up! That’s an order! This is not a drill!”

She sat up right away. “What was noise?”

“I don't know.” Not even pausing to put on a pair of pants over his boxers, leapt to his feet, grabbed the shotgun he kept beside his bed, and cocked it.

“I’m coming,” she said, taking a pistol in her metal left hand. The mechanical replacement Engineer had crafted for her had been suiting her well since the loss of her hand; she had grown to be quite comfortable with using it as well. It had been about half a year since she lost the appendage, and it had hardly stopped her from being the feisty soldier her fiance knew her to be. At the time of the injury, Zhanna continued to fight when she only had the still-bleeding stump at the end of her forearm and, to Soldier, that unbreakable resolve made her the sexiest woman on Earth.

For a short while, she would insist her missing hand was a flaw, while Soldier would always respond by telling her she was strong, ravishing, and a damned good soldier. She seemed to like this, as she would always utter an endearing term of beratement, which was closely followed by a kiss. Zhanna, when given the choice between having her hand reattached or having a metal replacement, opted for the mechanical one; the metal just hit harder than flesh ever could, and the advantage it brought was a worthwhile gain. She later had to dissuade Soldier from amputating both his hands for metal ones. Engineer made it clear that he had no intentions of crafting replacements for him if he did.

Since their escape from Gray Gravel Co. Base, Zhanna had become the newest addition to the team. Heavy voiced his protest at first, insisting his sister would have been best to leave for that stinky barn she and Soldier had talked about getting to avoid further harm. He even argued that it would have been safer than their home in Siberia had been. Naturally, she refused to leave, preferring to stay with Soldier in the heart of battle instead. She said the barn could wait until they were finished with the war. At first, Heavy also wasn’t overly thrilled about her involvement with the crazed patriot, but he soon saw how happy they were together. The way he treated Zhanna greatly changed his opinion of the man; he treated her well in his own bizarre, often abrasive, way. They were happy together, and that’s all that mattered in the end. Zhanna was hardly a young girl either and, as much as she loved her brother, didn’t rely on his approval; she made that much quite clear when she opted for the mechanical hand replacement. Heavy then backed off and over the months since the team had reunited, Zhanna quickly found her place among the nine other mercenaries, fitting in as if she had been there since the Gravel War. She got on well with just about everyone, much like her brother.

Zhanna, wearing only a short nightgown, ran to the door to catch up with Soldier.

“Ready, son?”

She nodded.

Throwing the door open and running out, Soldier screamed, “Charge!”

Zhanna hurried after him, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

A minute later, Scout sped into the hall in pyjamas and running shoes, his shotgun in his hands and his baseball bat nearby. Sticking out of the nightshirt pocket was a can of _Bonk! Atomic Punch_. It was almost surprising to see that it was still unopened. The young man’s light brown hair was messy and his eyes were tired, as if he had to forcibly drag himself out of bed.

“Scout, it’s much too early for junk food!” Soldier scolded.

“Yeah yeah, later, pal. A little busy right now,” Scout replied, his apparent exhaustion not serving to impact his speed. He still rushed by as if he’d been fully energized by his usual excessive caffeine intake, even though his speech and appearance said otherwise.

Not long after him, Demoman stumbled into the hall. “Wha's goin’ on?” he slurred, practically hanging from the doorframe. His eye was squinted, the dim light in the hall seeming to aggravate the hangover he likely had. Even at the ungodly hour, he had managed to grab his bottle of scrumpy, yet not a proper outfit.

“No idea,” Zhanna said.

“Get your gun and fight, sissy!”

“Right now?”

“Yes!” barked Soldier. “That is an order!”

Demoman groaned but did as he was told, stumbling back into his room to prepare himself to fight.

At that moment, Spy, fully dressed in his suit and balaclava, wordlessly came into the hall already half cloaked. He went entirely invisible a second later, presumably going in the same direction Scout had.

Right afterward, Pyro came forward in their flame-retardant suit and mask. They already had their flamethrower in hand and were skipping down the hall like a giddy young woman in a meadow of daisies. He could have sworn he heard a muffled laugh as well. It sent a chill down Soldier’s spine; he couldn't fathom how someone could be so giddy about charring living human beings to a crisp. Being blown apart by a rocket or gunned down by a swarm of bullets seemed like a much nicer way to kick the bucket. Disgust washed over him as he recalled seeing Pyro roasting a marshmallow over a flaming BLU team corpse.

He put it out of his mind when Sniper and Engineer came out of their rooms, both half dressed in a pair of pants with a tank top. Sniper was only armed with his kukri machete while Engineer only had a wrench in hand.

“Men, what is the meaning of this?” Soldier barked. “Where are your weapons?”

“In resupply, mate,” Sniper said, checking over his shoulder and holding his blade tightly.

Another loud bang echoed down the hall.

“Was that a bomb?” Engineer asked.

“Probably,” said Sniper. “Come on, we don't have all day.” With that, he hurried forward but took a different turn toward the resupply room. Engineer followed his lead.

“Brother is still not here,” Zhanna said.

“Go get him, then,” Soldier replied.

Before she could, Medic rounded the corner hollering for Heavy. His hair was a mess and his round glasses sat crooked on his nose. He had thrown on a white tank top, but it somehow already had a blood stain on it. From what or who, no one could have known. Unlike his allies, he was completely unarmed.

Medic banged on Heavy’s door; the man opened it shortly after. He had his uniform shirt and pants on without the vest. Although he appeared to be half asleep still, he had Sasha ready to go.

“What does Doctor need?”

“Something’s going on! I need my weapons, but they're in resupply!”

He gave a tired smile. “I lead way. You get crossbow and saw.”

Medic smiled back. “ _Danke_.”

With that they departed for their destination, Heavy leading the way and using his larger stature to protect the defenceless man from any possible harm.

Soldier looked to Zhanna. “That’s everyone, right?”

She nodded then she and Soldier followed after the other team members to the source of the noise.

Chaos had already broken loose. Windows were shattered, leaving debris strewn across the floor among the splatters of blood and golden brown engine oil. Scout was being chased around the room by a robot that appeared to rival him for speed. It was running up walls in an attempt to get ahead of him; it was succeeding. With every second he was losing ground, and the attacker only continued to tail him with bullets.

Meanwhile, Pyro was frantically swinging their Axtinguisher at another robot, its construction entirely different from the one pursuing Scout. Pyro’s enemy was ablaze for a few seconds before it fizzled out. Pyro themself was also on fire, yet they didn't seem overly bothered by that fact as they seemed to ignore it. Soldier had no idea how heat resistant the asbestos suit was, but surely it wouldn’t protect them indefinitely.

The Spy and his foe were nowhere to be seen. Soldier could only assume he was attempting to hide long enough to spring an attack, as usual. The enemy was likely using similar methods.

Just then, Soldier heard the pop of a rocket being launched behind him. “Incoming!” he shouted, tackling Zhanna out of the line of fire. She groaned from the sting of the impact yet didn't complain. They looked up from their spot on the floor and saw a blackened splotch where they were standing.

“Well, that was a close one,” he said. With a laugh, he called out to no one in particular, “You’ll have to try harder than that, hippie!”

Soldier then looked up to the source of the shot and saw two robots, also unique from the others. It seemed as though none of them were built to be the same as another. The one with the shoulder-mounted rocket launcher laughed. The slightly shorter one beside it did the same, yet it sounded higher.

The shorter robot put an arm around the other and said in its staticy voice, “Close shot, my love.”

Soldier’s jaw dropped. “My God, Zhanna, they did it again!”

She raised an eyebrow. “Did what?”

“Gray Gravel Co! They made murderous robots of us to kill us!”

She eyed the robots from head to toe. “They could have made mine pretty.”

“No time for that now, son. This is war!”

Zhanna grinned. “We will destroy ugly robots!”

Soldier nodded, pointing and shooting his shotgun at them immediately. The rounds hit but did little to damage the machines. The Soldier one only gave a jeering smile.

He stared at the result for a moment before saying, “Well, that didn't work. Retreat!” He picked Zhanna up, carrying her bridal-style, and began to flee to resupply to retrieve stronger weapons.

Behind them, bullets rained down, threatening to catch Soldier’s legs if he slowed down at all. With every step, they seemed to hit slightly closer to them. He attempted to pick up the pace; he wouldn’t be beaten by glorified tin cans.

They made it inside without getting hit, with the invisible barrier at the doorframe keeping them safe for the moment. Anyone or anything that wasn’t from RED that dared to cross would be disintegrated. It was a standard component of resupply rooms and the mechanical enemies seemed to know and respect the threat it posed. Rather than waiting outside, they marched back to the main room, likely to seek out a new target to pass the time.

Inside the makeshift safe-haven the missing members of the team, except for Demoman, were preparing themselves to fight. Heavy and Medic were suiting up, Engineer was digging through his toolbox, and Sniper was facing the corner to pee in a jar. It bothered Soldier that Demoman had slacked off again but guessed that he had simply been too hungover to fight. He had probably just gone back to bed despite the chaos.

“They’re at it again,” Soldier announced, setting Zhanna on her feet. “More robots of us meant to kill us.”

Engineer sighed. “Dammit, again?”

“You’d better believe it, hard-hat.” Turning his attention back to his fiance, he said, “Go get your gun, sweetie; this won't be an easy fight.”

“On it.” Effortlessly pushing past her brother, she went to her cubby and got her grenade belt and shot gun. “Fight well, brother,” she said to Heavy.

He yawned, fighting the urge to stretch as he threw his bandolier over his shoulder. “You as well,” he mumbled.

“He may as well be in bed still,” Medic joked, popping the cap off of the rear of the Crusader’s Crossbow’s canister to load a syringe into it.

“There's no time for sleep now, ladies!” Soldier barked. “Victory waits for no one!” He took his rocket launcher and stuffed a few rockets into the barrel. “Onward, men!” With that, he ran to the door.

“Wait for me, Soldier,” Zhanna replied, going to back him up. When she caught up, Soldier wrapped an arm around her waist, aimed his rocket launcher at the ground, then blasted a shot, flinging the two of them into the heat of battle.

When they had left the resupply room, Medic chuckled. “Aren’t they something together?”

Heavy rolled his eyes. “They make me sick. She always wear necklace of ears he gave her. _Human_ ears.”

“I know. And their pet names are anything but romantic.”

He nodded, absently spinning the barrel of his gun.

“Are you ready to go?” Medic asked.

“ _Da_. We kill metal cowards now.”

He grinned. “That’s the spirit, _mein freund_.”

Heavy mirrored his expression, let out a passionate battle cry, and charged toward the enemy. Medic clutched the Crusader’s Crossbow to his chest and jogged behind him.

“I’m sorry I can’t Übercharge you,” Medic said flatly.

“I protect doctor, and doctor helps where he can.”

He smiled slightly. “ _Danke_.” Although his understanding of the situation at hand was pleasant, it did nothing to solve the pressing issue at hand. They were still without a Medi Gun, and by extension without an Übercharge. A Medic without an Übercharge was anything but a ‘credit to team,’ as Heavy would say. The Crusader’s Crossbow, although it could heal and damage, wasn't exactly the fastest tool, nor the most effective in his arsenal. The Übersaw was helpful, but its advantages were limited without having a Medi Gun to provide an Übercharge for.

Little truly put Medic out of sorts, but knowing he was quite possibly leading Heavy to his demise sent a wave of panic through him. It still wasn’t a scheduled battle; any deaths would be permanent. Medic had already become the bringer of death only two weeks before and he didn’t know if Heavy had gotten over it or not. He may have said he had forgiven him, yet the odd brooding state he had been slipping into at times said otherwise. At one moment he was more than happy to spend time with the doctor as they usually did: playing chess, reading a book together, or even offering to help him with his work. The next, he’d lock himself in his room, refusing to let Medic come in or speak with him. It was puzzling, to say the least. He couldn’t figure out what had been going through Heavy’s head in the recent weeks.

When he and Heavy emerged from the shelter of the resupply hall, the main room was already bullet-ridden and stained with blood, ashes, and machine oil. Pyro’s axe swings seemed to be lethargic and their foe was as strong as ever. Instinctively, Medic fired a syringe from his crossbow at his ally. They seemed to improve slightly from the assistance.

“Doctor, this way!” Heavy hollered, moving as quickly as he could toward a behemoth of a robot, supported by a much smaller contraption. It may have appeared to be insignificant in regard to the other, but judging by the blue swirling beam it projected, Medic knew better than to underestimate it as a threat. It was mending the larger one, as Medic did with his own team. It couldn't have been shoddily made, either.

The towering foe appeared to be constructed with Heavy in mind, taking his size and weapon selection into account. It had to be at least eleven feet tall, seven feet wide, and heavily armoured. It had a large, powerful minigun barrel built into it, and its smaller assistant seemed to be supplying it with health and ammunition. The real Heavy gave the robots a stern glare as he revved up his minigun to begin the onslaught, despite the disadvantage they were at.

Medic scoffed, seeing that his counterpart had been reduced to a mere dispenser on wheels. His perspective changed rapidly when a compartment raised, then a swarm of syringes filled with an unknown translucent fluid came flying in their direction.

“Heavy, watch out!” he yelled, running out of the line of fire without delay.

Heavy, however, was not so lucky. Within mere seconds, he had gone from being a human tank to being a human pin cushion. He let out a blood curdling scream, letting Sasha carelessly tumble to the ground so he could rip the needles out of himself. Where they hit, the skin reddened and blistered. Horrified, Medic fired a syringe of his own at him then helped to remove the shots.

“You’re okay,” Medic assured him, despite the sinking dismay filling his gut. “Kill them; I will heal you.”

Attempting to mask the searing pain, Heavy gritted his teeth with a nod and retrieved Sasha, revving her up and firing once more. Medic scrambled to fire another syringe at Heavy, then continued to remove the ones from the enemy. Although his efforts were warding off some of the immediate damage, the wounds were still an angry red and swollen; they had to be agonizing.

The enemy spun up the barrel and laughed mockingly.

“Don't be a hero,” Medic said to Heavy. “Run if you need to.”

“I will fight until I cannot,” he grunted, eyes locked on his target.

He furrowed his brow, aimed, and fired a syringe at the awful robot, knowing it did little to damage it. Medic figured it had to be better to try than to do nothing. Reloading, he directed his next shot to Heavy. Unfortunately, the man was already splattered with his own blood from the numerous bullet wounds he’d received in a matter of seconds. The futility of his work stung. He contemplated whether there was still a point in trying or not.

Heavy caught a glimpse of Medic’s face out of the corner of his eye as he shot, seeing his troubled expression, and forced a tense smile. He didn’t peel his eyes from his target. “I am okay. Do not worry.” He let out a mighty battle cry. Taking a step forward, he called out, “Is that all metal baby man can do?”

Medic saw that his ally was running low on ammunition, stepping away to bring some for him. For good measure, he hit him with another syringe on his way.

He found a large ammunition crate tucked behind the stairs, which he hefted into his arms and ran as fast as he could back to the fight. The weight slowed him down considerably, making him appreciate just how difficult running with the minigun must have been for Heavy. He claimed she weighed 150 kilograms; Medic had no doubt in his mind that she did. Not that he’d tried to lift her, of course. Even the combined load of the Medi Gun with its pack and the ammunition crate was laughable at best compared to Sasha.

When he returned, the machine was looking less than pristine due to Heavy’s dedicated efforts.

“ _Wunderbar_!” Medic exclaimed, attempting to pick up his pace but not observing a difference in his speed.

“I need ammo now,” Heavy replied, the ammunition belt currently being fed through the gun being nearly spent as he spoke.

He pried the box open and yanked a belt out. He tossed it to Heavy, who caught it without ceasing fire, immediately threaded it through as the last of the bullets whipped into the gun.

Medic then took cover behind his comrade, trusting that they would be able to push through as long as he continued to provide what little aid he could.

The duo continued to serve their respective roles for what felt like an eternity. Without warning, when Medic had unwisely exposed himself for no more than a moment, the small robot shot a barbed arrow from the same place it had fired from before. Medic could only watch as the shot came hurling at him, followed by a fiery pain in his chest. When he looked down, he saw the hot crimson stain blossoming across his chest, the arrow at its center. He could still feel his heart beating, silently rejoicing that his counterpart had missed the intended target by about an inch.

Medic sent another syringe whizzing through the air toward Heavy before collapsing to his hands and knees. His tank top clung to his chest, blood dripped onto the floor below him. The sickening splattering sound was drowned out by the whirring of guns. When he fell, the Crusader's Crossbow tumbled down beside him, skidding across the cement floor near Heavy’s foot. The man was too focused on aiming his gun to notice.

With a grunt, he forced himself to crawl closer to Heavy, feeling his arms shake and threaten to give out under him. When he was close enough, he grabbed at his ankle, feeling how weak his grip was. The agony of holding himself up was too great for him to avoid crying out; he silently cursed at himself for being so weak.

Heavy looked down, ready to shoot until he saw who it was. Immediately, he ceased firing and his eyes went wide. “Medic!”

“Help…”

Ignoring the danger they were in the midst of, Heavy put Sasha down and scooped Medic up, clutching him to his chest to shield him from further harm yet remaining mindful of the protruding arrow. Without so much as looking over his shoulder, he ran as fast as he could to the resupply room.

Behind them, a loud boom rang out, stopping Heavy dead in his tracks. Worried that they were being chased, he turned around, seeing that Soldier and Zhanna had taken their places.

“Go!” Zhanna yelled to him, whipping another grenade at the large machine.

“ _Da_ ,” he called back, trusting his sister and her fiance to take up their fight as he took care of his doctor.

Heavy looked down at the man in his arms, seeing that he was pale and rapidly fading. The bleeding only continued to worsen with every second that passed.

“I’m sorry,” Medic slurred, his eyes barely open.

“Don't talk. You are okay.”

He nodded slightly and fell silent.

They soon reached resupply where Heavy kissed Medic’s forehead and gently laid him down on a bench, causing him to let out a groan of pain. He frantically dug through the cupboard, pitching anything that wouldn't provide health onto the floor. When he found a health kit, he brought it to Medic.

“This is not sandwich, but it will help.”

Medic smiled weakly. “ _Danke_ , comrade.”

Heavy studied the wound for several moments before asking, “How do we… get arrow out?”

“Do you have a knife?”

Heavy went to Spy’s cubby and took his butterfly knife, assuming he'd understand. He then handed the blade to Medic.

He managed to smile when the blade was placed in his hand. A hint of his usual morbid excitement crept onto his face, even in his poor state.

He chuckled softly and said, “This will be excruciating.” With that, Medic hacked the tank top apart, then sliced into his skin at the entry point of the arrow. Heavy cringed and looked away.

Medic screamed as he pulled the arrow out of his chest. Once he had it out his arm, still holding onto the arrow, fell to his side. The blood now gushed from his chest alarmingly fast. “The health kit, please.”

Heavy put the kit beside him and opened it, allowing the short burst of a healing beam to leave the box to reach Medic. He wasn't fully healed, but it helped him substantially. The rest would have to remedy itself on its own. Medic sat himself up and examined the arrow with keen interest. “Ooh, she’s a nasty one, isn't she?” He lightly brushed his finger over one of the barbs, careful to not cut himself.

“You almost died,” Heavy said somberly.

He waved it off. “I’m fine, Heavy.” He remained focused on the weapon, staring at the blood with glee. “My, they don’t make them like this any more, do they?”

“Doctor...”

He sighed. “What?” Finally dragging his attention away from the weapon to look at Heavy, his hands went slack, letting it roll onto his lap. “ _Mein Gott_!” he exclaimed. Only then did he realize that Heavy was still ridden with bullets and covered in blood, only looking worse than he had before.

Medic nearly leaped off of the bench, scanning the room for his weapon but not finding it.

“Crossbow is out there with Sasha.”

He frowned. “A health kit will have to do, then.”

“Sorry,” Heavy said.

“It's fine.” He took another health kit down from the shelf and used it on Heavy, smiling as he saw the wounds mend themselves. “Does that feel a bit better?”

“ _Da_.” Heavy smiled at him. “Ready to fight, Doctor?”

“ _Ja. Schnell! Raus, raus_!”

The pair hustled out to the main room. While they were gone, Soldier and Zhanna had dealt a great deal of damage. The enemy’s bullets seemed to fly lethargically compared to earlier in the fight. Despite all of their progress, its small companion appeared to be unharmed.

However, the couple was joined by their own machine counterparts, adding to the onslaught.

Heavy reclaimed his gun, pausing only to hand Medic his crossbow before unloading his rounds at the robots targeting Soldier and Zhanna. The bullets appeared to have a greater effect on them than they did on his own foe. “We destroy metal cowards!” he yelled as the bullets soared through the air.

Medic used the cover his three allies provided to take his Übersaw and slip behind their enemies. The other robots appeared to be too focused on his allies to notice his presence. Medic came behind the healing robot and slashed at it numerous times, swinging harder with each hit. Although his efforts appeared fruitless at first, they soon lead to severe damages that rendered it incapacitated.

“Great job, ladies!” Soldier yelled, firing another rocket at Heavy’s robotic attacker. The machine recoiled from the direct hit.

On Heavy’s side of the attack, the enemies were on their knees, barely able to lift their weapons to shoot. A few more shots were fired, and all four of the enemies were defeated.

Heavy raised his weapon in triumph. “Metal cowards are no more!”

“Thank you for help, brother,” Zhanna said.

“Family makes good team,” he replied with a smile.

Soldier wrapped an arm around Zhanna's waist. “Come here, Pumpkin,” he said before kissing her. She practically melted in his arms and caressed his cheek.

Just then, they were interrupted as a familiar voice screamed, “Help!”

The four looked up to the source of the sound, coming from a balcony overlooking the room. Sniper was being held in the air by his throat by his machine counterpart and a sharp, claw-like arm was heading toward his abdomen, clearly about to stab him.

Soldier stuffed a rocket into the launcher and fired in their direction with little regard for where he had aimed. By some miracle, the rocket hit the robot rather than Sniper, blowing it to pieces and causing the man it held captive to be tossed to the floor like a ragdoll.

Medic rushed to his aid, loading a shot into the Crusader's Crossbow. The others followed his lead.

“Sniper, are you okay?” Medic asked.

“Bloody hell…” he groaned. He was cut in several places and bruised, but otherwise appeared to be in stable condition.

He fired a syringe at Sniper, which lessened the injuries to an extent.

“What was that thing?” Medic asked to no one in particular. He offered Sniper a hand up, which he gladly accepted.

“I recognize it,” replied Zhanna. “It belong to Australium robot.”

“One of those things?” Medic raised a finger, flashing a smile. “Ah, yes, I remember hearing them talk about those around the base!” Zhanna glared at him; he lowered his hand. “I mean, I’ve never seen one before. I have no idea what that is!” He then laughed uncomfortably and added, “Why would I?”

Soldier, seemingly oblivious to the other conversation, peered at Sniper. “Wait… You have Australium? Where are you hiding it, son?”

“I don’t have any.”

“It was targeting you!” he objected. “We Americans don't need Australium! We have stars and stripes, Private!”

Sniper rolled his eyes. “Look, mate, this won’t be easy for you to understand, but I think it’s about time you knew.” He sighed. “I’m not American. I’m Australian… kind of. I was raised there, but my birth parents were from New Zealand.”

Soldier’s jaw dropped. Behind him, Medic waved his hand frantically in front of his throat with a sharp glare. Heavy mouthed, ‘shut up’. Zhanna simply studied Soldier’s face as he listened.

He nodded slightly, hoping to communicate his understanding without drawing Soldier’s attention. “Anyway, as I was say-”

Before he could finish, Soldier said, “No! That's impossible! You’re _clearly_ American!”

“Most of us aren’t,” Sniper briefly shot his other teammates an apologetic glance. “Medic’s German, Spy’s French, Demo’s Scottish, Heavy and Zhanna are Russian, and Pyro’s… Pyro.”

Heavy and Medic met each other’s eyes for a moment, exchanging looks of shock and horror, then waited for Soldier’s reaction.

Soldier gasped. “No! The spies have gotten behind enemy lines!”

Medic pinched the bridge of his nose. “We are not spies, _dummkopf_.”

“Spy is only spy,” Heavy affirmed.

Soldier stood unresponsive for a few seconds before aggressively shaking his head. “Medic, you’re not a Nazi, right?”

Medic attempted to minimize a reflexive cringe at the mention of his home country’s wicked past. He was more than expecting it to come up at some point, yet he still wasn’t ready to deal with it. With a weary sigh, he asked, “Would I be working for an enemy country of Nazi Germany if I was?”

“Uh… no?”

“Exactly,” he said, pushing his glasses up on his nose and allowing a piercing glare to accompany it. “And World War Two ended about thirty years ago. The Nazi scare is done, _ja_?”

Soldier muttered an agreement under his breath. Turning to Zhanna, he asked, “And you’re not a communist, are you?”

At this, Heavy balled his hands into fists.

She frowned, crossing her arms. “You think I am enemy of America?”

“Uh…” Soldier furrowed his brow and rubbed at his chin. He then, not sounding overly sure of himself, said, “No?”

Zhanna rolled her eyes. “I thought you were smarter than this.”

“Look, Zhanna, I-”

“Misha told me you insult Mother in our home.”

“ _Da_ ,” Heavy said, glaring at Soldier. “I heard it.”

Soldier frowned. He met his fiance’s eyes, but she only continued to shoot him a murderous look. He said quietly, “It wasn’t… it’s not true, right?”

Heavy shook his head and walked away without a word.

Sniper noticed as Medic slightly raised his hand, as if it would have stopped Heavy from leaving, yet brought it down again a second after. It also looked as though he were about to call after him as well. Medic’s face almost matched the one he had when the old brute he previously worked for had nearly killed Archimedes: crushed. Sniper didn’t comment on it, though.

Zhanna watched her brother leave then said, “We talk later. You sleep on the couch tonight.” She stomped away, her footfalls echoing through the large room.

Before tensions could worsen, Sniper clapped his hands together and said, “Well, that's enough of that for tonight. I don't know about you, but I’m tired. It’s only…” He checked his watch. “Five thirty in the morning.”

“Good night,” Soldier said, quieter than usual, walking toward the common room rather than the bedrooms.

The man departed for his quarters. Medic lingered behind to speak with Sniper, asking him in a hushed voice, “So, why did the robot think you had Australium? Clearly, you don’t.”

“I don’t know, mate.”

“Hmm… Interesting. I would like to run some tests.”

He groaned. “Of course you want to.”

Medic shrugged. “This is the cost of medicine, _mein freund_. And, I can’t afford to have you die again.”

“You’d better not.”

“It won’t happen again.” Medic looked over to him, seeing his jaw tense. He almost wanted to scold him for the damage he was doing to his teeth by grinding them. Rather than commenting on it, he just listened to the soft sound of their feet meeting the tiled floor and the distant chatter of the rest of his team drifting down the hall. After a few seconds, he added, “I only need a blood sample.”

“And that’s all you’re getting from me.”

“Very well. Come to my lab tomorrow after breakfast. I won’t be long.”

Sniper muttered a curse word under his breath and shook his head slightly, speeding up to be rid of the undesired company. Medic simply watched him leave; there was no use in pursuing him at such an unreasonable hour. He already had what he wanted.

Medic strolled down the hall towards his room, passing Engineer on his way. Engineer pried the glove off of his right hand with some effort as he walked, exposing the damaged metal one it covered. The contraption itself appeared to be intact, yet it was decidedly warped.

Medic chuckled quietly. “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that one. I heal muscles, not machines.”

He shrugged. “It’s nothin’ a bit of of metal and elbow-grease won’t fix.”

“You do have a point there.”

“I’d love to stay and chat, but I’m doggone tired. Get some rest, Doc.” Engineer continued on to his room.

Medic nodded. “Good night, Engineer.” With that, he continued on his way.

Before he could open the door to his room, he heard a voice ask, “Hey, Doc?”

Medic pivoted, seeing Scout standing a few paces away. He narrowed his eyes, taking an inventory of Scout’s state. Other than his clear exhaustion, he appeared to be well enough. Yet, he was a bit pale and clammy, slightly shaky as well.

“Yes? What is it? Are you hurt from the battle?”

“My head hurts a little, I guess.”

Medic frowned. “Did that robot hit you on the head?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t look injured, but you don’t exactly look well.”

“I’m fine, r-really. It’s nothin’.” Scout flashed a grin. “What, you thought those chuckleheads would get to me? In your dreams, pal.”

He gave a knowing smile. “Scout, it’s okay to be scared sometimes.”

He crossed his arms, tucking his trembling hands close to his sides. “Who said I was scared, huh? J-Just some stupid robots, that’s all.”

“I was a bit scared, too. I won’t tell anyone; doctor-patient confidentiality.”

“A-Alright, fine. Maybe I did get a bit freaked out.” Putting on a brave face, he said, “That thing almost got me. No respawn, either. I mean, I haven’t even gotten a date with Miss Pauling yet...”

“It’s natural to be uncomfortable with your own mortality.”

Scout rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve died plenty of times. I’m used to it.”

“Just get back to bed. You’ll thank me later.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he deadpanned. Scout rolled his eyes and traipsed off, leaving Medic by himself once more.

Medic dragged himself to bed, feeling the sting in his chest from the arrow wound. As the team’s doctor, he was almost thankful to have been injured more than anyone else. It was a sign of a job well done, even without the Medi Gun. He lay on his back, letting himself fall into the clutches of sleep, all while wondering if Heavy would still be in a sour mood the next day.


	2. Reports And Blackmail

RED Team Base - Badlands, New Mexico. Wednesday, March 28th, 1973.

* * *

Sniper rolled out of bed, shoving his feet into the tattered slippers waiting on the floor. If he’d had his say, he would have had a little more time in bed to recover from the terrible attack only a few hours prior. A mug of coffee would have to suffice. Sniper stumbled down the hall toward the kitchen, dragging his feet against the tiled floor.

Not paying attention to his surroundings, he nearly tripped over Soldier, curled up on the floor outside of his room.

“Bloody idiot,” Sniper grumbled. “What are you doing?”

“I am trying to sleep,” Soldier said rather mechanically, sitting himself up.

“I thought you went to the common room last night.”

He rubbed at his reddened eyes. “No, sir. It was a perfect spot for a robot to attack!”

Sniper frowned. “So you stayed here all night?”

“Yes!”

“You look terrible, mate.” He almost couldn’t fathom how Soldier could still sound as passionate as he did despite the sleep deprivation.

“I tried to go to bed, but Zhanna locked me out. So, I put myself on watch duty!” Soldier gave a half-hearted laugh. “Those bastards better think again if they think they’re going to get to my sexy fiance.”

Sniper shook his head and continued on his way. “Get some rest, you mongrel.”

He saluted with poor form. “Yes, sir!”

It almost pained Sniper to think about what would be waiting for him after breakfast. As much as he wanted to avoid the visit to Medic’s lab, he knew the maniac would come looking for him sooner or later and drag him there against his will if he tried to escape the procedure. He had to admit: the man was driven, although not always in the best of ways.

Sniper grabbed his favourite mug and set his on the table then sunk down into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, not even bothering to check if anyone had made coffee yet. He began to think about what he would make for breakfast. Vegemite on toast seemed like an appealing option.

He looked up when he heard the door swing open, seeing Medic stroll in. Sniper groaned, letting his head fall face-down on the table.

“ _Guten morgen_ ,” he said, opening the fridge door. Looking to the other mercenary, he asked, “Would you like some eggs?”

“Why not?”

“How many?”

“Two.”

Medic got to work making breakfast; neither man spoke. A few minutes later, he placed a plate of eggs and toast in front of Sniper, then filled his ‘#1 Sniper’ mug with coffee.

“Thanks, mate.”

“ _Jahwol_.”

They ate without speaking for most of their meal. Near the end, Medic asked, “Do you have any plans for the day?”

“Other than being a bloody cadaver? No.”

He waved it off and finished his coffee. “Shall we begin?”

Sniper groaned. “May as well get it done and over with.”

“ _Sehr gute_!” Medic stood and lead the way to his lab almost too eagerly.

He didn't bother to try to flee but silently anticipated the worst. Having died once before, he was hardly afraid of what could be waiting for him in the afterlife. Sniper just wasn't too keen on the idea of dying prematurely to a madman's morbid curiosity.

Medic gestured to the operating table and Sniper settled himself onto it. From what he could see, the lab was no messier than usual, yet it was hardly up to hospital standards. He squinted his eyes from the bright light above him, attempting for shut out the memory of heavenly lights.

“Your arm, _bitte_.”

He sighed and held it out. Medic picked up a nearby syringe and slid it into a vein in the man’s arm. Sniper didn't even flinch, yet his lip slightly curled in disgust.

“You’re quiet today,” Medic said, drawing back the plunger. Sniper didn’t miss the manic expression on the man’s face as he worked. Rather than scolding Medic for it as he wanted to, he just shook his head. “Suit yourself.”

He pressed a cotton ball to the tiny hole after removing the needle. “Now if you’ll just hold this here…” Medic said, more focused on the crimson fluid in the syringe than on his patient.

Sniper did as he was told, shooting a venomous glare to the doctor as he did so.

“What?”

“Just… Let’s get this over with, alright?”

A hint of a pout tugged at Medic’s lips. “But that’s no fun.”

Sniper snorted. “Yeah. Fun. That’s why I’m here.”

He rolled his eyes. “Stay there; I won’t be long,” he said. Holding the sample close, Medic swiftly glided away from the table, ducking behind a set of double doors.

Sniper considered leaving while he had the chance, yet he didn’t get up. Part of him wanted to know whether there truly was Australium in his blood or not; whether he was more Australian than he gave himself credit for. Even with that enticing motive, he was loathing every moment he spent in the not-so-sterile lab under the supposed care of a selfish nutjob with only his own goals in mind.

As he was weighing his options, the door swung open and in came Scout. He looked around the room as he walked in, almost appearing as though he were lost. “Doc?”

“He’s a bit busy right now,” Sniper replied, peering at the cotton ball for a second before flicking it across the room.

“Doin’ what?”

“Blood test.” He rolled his eyes. “You know what he’s like.”

Scout raised an eyebrow. “What for?”

“Australium. After that tin can tried to bleed me dry last night, the quack wanted to check if I had Australium in me.”

He cringed. “Aw man, that sucks.” He walked over to the other mercenary, continuing to pace in the general area around the table.

“And what’re you doing here?”

“I was gonna ask if he got around to getting more of that crap for his gun or not. See if there was anythin’ else he needed from Miss Pauling.”

Sniper shook his head quickly and his eyes widened. “Wait… He’s out of Medi Gun fluid?”

He snorted a laugh. “Uh… yeah. You didn’t know?”

“Crikey… How long has he been out?”

“Two weeks? Three, tops.”

“Bloody hell…”

The doors at the back of the lab swung open, drawing their attention. Medic strode over without mirth, his hands folded behind his back.

“What did you find, Doc?” Sniper asked, attempting to prepare himself for the answer.

“Well, the bad news is: I didn’t find anything out of the ordinary.”

“So there’s no Australium?”

“ _Nein_.”

Sniper grinned. “Well, I think we’re done here.”

“Err… Not quite. I need to find out why they thought you did.”

He swung his legs off the side and hopped down. “No way, mate.”

“Just a few more tests, _bitte_.”

“No.” Sniper was already making his way to the door as he said, “I agreed to one test, that’s it.”

Medic frowned.

“Uh, guys?”

They both responded at the same time.

“What am I tellin’ Miss Pauling?”

Medic absently ran his hand over the empty Medi Gun canister sitting nearby. “Tell her there was no Australium, not even in Sniper’s blood; the attack last night didn’t make sense. Oh, and ask her to order some more Medi Gun fluid.”

“You’re bloody mad. One of us could have _died_ last night.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I almost died as well.”

* * *

RED Team Base, Engineer’s Workshop - Badlands, New Mexico. Wednesday, March 28th, 1973.

* * *

Engineer scratched his chin, peering at the mechanical parts sitting on the workbench. “I just don’t get it,” he said. “What in tarnation did they do to these things?”

Pyro, laying on the floor and kicking their feet in the air as they scribbled on a piece of paper with a crayon, looked up. “Huddah?” they asked.

“Oh, sorry, Pyro. I was talkin’ to myself again. Bad habit a’ mine, I know.”

Pyro shook their head.

He smiled. “Thanks, partner.” Engineer absently flexed his metal hand to work the engine grease he had applied to it through the joints. Because he was more concerned about studying the remains of their enemies than he was about his hand, he only bothered to hammer out the worst of the bends and twists. There would be time to tinker with it later. All he needed it to do was obey the signals from the neurosensors attached to his wrist, and it seemed to be doing that without difficulty.

Rain would be following in only a matter of time, probably within the next day or so. The humidity in the air and the telltale ache in the stump of his wrist gave it away. Engineer grew to resent the nuisance it had become to him; even Medic had concluded that even the Medi Gun could do nothing to help him.

Engineer almost let out a shout of surprise when he found his thoughts interrupted by a colourful picture being shoved in his face. He took the paper from Pyro’s hands. It was a picture of one of those ‘Balloonicorns’ Pyro kept drawing. Around the pink creature was a rainbow, puffy clouds, a cheery yellow sun, green grass, lollipops, bubbles, and a doodle of themself and Engineer.

A little stunned, Engineer said, “Wow, uh, ain’t that a lovely picture you drew there.”

They nodded and gave a muffled reply.

“Thank you Pyro; it’s real pretty. Why don’t I hang this up on the fridge?”

Pyro said yes. He smiled and carefully folded it into quarters to put into the pocket of his overalls. He was taken off guard when they tackled him into a hug, nearly knocking him down. He was able to steady himself at the last minute by catching himself on the workbench.

“Careful,” he scolded with a laugh. Sobering up, he said, “Now before I go hang this up, let’s take a look at these sorry piles of scrap.”

Pyro let go of their friend and looked at the mess of robotic parts strewn across the workspace. They ran their gloved hand over the layers of various kinds of fabrics and rubber sheets layered under the metal shell of their robotic foe. The first few layers were charred nearly beyond recognition; however, the layers closer to the robot’s core were in better condition. The effects of the flames could still be clearly smelled along with the dirt and oil.

“Huh. Would'ya look at that,” Engineer said, picking up the robot’s arm. “This here’s a different metal altogether.”

Pyro poked the fabric layers. “Hudduh hurr?”

“What’s that, you ask?” Engineer leaned in close, squinting his eyes behind his goggles. “That there looks like asbestos fabric. Looks a lot like your suit, firebug.”

Pyro crossed their arms and mumbled a complaint.

“I know, I know. Well that explains why it wasn't burning so well, don't it?”

They nodded. “Uhh huh!”

Engineer placed a hand on their shoulder. “Good job, partner.” Although he couldn't see their face, he somehow knew they were smiling at him.

At that moment, Scout burst through the doors.

“Woah there! Where's the fire?”

Pyro pointed at themself and laughed.

Engineer chuckled, shaking his head. “Ain’t that the truth. Anyhow, what do you need, Scout?”

“Have you found anythin’ yet? Like, anything I can report to Miss Pauling?”

“Well, that depends on what you need to know.” He absently flexed his metal hand, feeling the satisfying glide of the well-oiled joints in all but one finger. The faulty joint screeched loudly, causing Scout to cringe and bring his hands up to cover his ear. Engineer gave an apologetic smile and let his hand relax again. “Sorry ‘bout the noise.” Holding up the damaged prosthetic, he added, “I’ve been meaning to fix the darn thing since I woke up, but I just haven’t been able to with all these robots lying all over the place. As for them, here’s what I’ve found so far.”

Engineer waved Scout over to the workbench and he jogged over. Over the next little while, he briefed him on his current findings, pointing to the pieces as he spoke. He explained that they were all equipped with the Australium extraction hoses and were mostly constructed of the same materials, outside of some of the obvious flame retardance with Pyro’s. Each one, from what he had found, was meant to target a specific person and was designed to be resistant to their methods of combat. Outside of the technical aspects he could see, Engineer said he had no clue about how their programming worked or why they were sent, but he said he was looking into it. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that they were sent from Gray Gravel Co.

* * *

RED Team Base, Common Room - Badlands, New Mexico. Wednesday, March 28th, 1973.

* * *

“Come on, pick up…” Scout said, pacing at the length of the phone’s cord. Still the phone continued to ring without the other end answering it. It was his second time dialling; she always answered within the first five rings.

The staticy phone played the recorded message that said, “Hi, you’ve reached Catherine Bradley! I’m sorry I can’t come to the phone right now. Please leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks, sweetie!”

The line beeped, prompting him to leave his message. “Yeah hey, uh, Ma? It’s me. I… hope you’re doin’ okay and all that; it’s not like you to let the phone go to voicemail. Give me a call when you get this. Uh, I love ya.” He hung up the phone and sighed.

Scout’s thoughts raced through the possibilities, best and worst case scenarios at war with one another. He hoped she just got invited out with her girlfriends for the night. Gray Gravel Co. didn’t know where his Ma lived, so it couldn’t have been that. Or so he told himself.

Before he could get too lost in his worrying, he remembered he still had a gorgeous woman to call: Miss Pauling. Surely, with all his important information to report, she’d have to stay on the line for a few minutes. If he was lucky, she’d be willing to stick around to chat as well.

Scout punched in the number to her mobile phone and waited.

“Hello?” she huffed, sounding as though she were racing in a marathon.

“Hey, Miss Pauling.” He smiled flirtatiously then remembered she wasn’t there to see it.

“Scout, what is it?”

He propped his forearm against the wall. “What’re you doin’?”

The coarse sound of a shovel meeting sandy dirt came through. “Working. You know, because I get one day off a year and you wasted it. Again.”

“Oh. So… what does The Administrator have you doin’ today?”

“Burying bodies.” Miss Pauling gave a breathy laugh. “The ground is…” She grunted as he heard her force the shovel down, “really dry.”

“That… sounds like fun,” Scout said, trying to sound interested.

“If you don’t have anything important to say, bother me some other time, okay?”

Scout straightened himself up. “Uh, no. No, I’ve got lots of important stuff to say!”

“If this ‘important stuff’ involves asking me out, the answer is no.” The shovel clattered to the ground, then he heard the wind blow through the speaker.

He laughed uncomfortably. “Who said I was gonna ask you out? Looks like you _want_ to go out with me.”

“Scout, I mean it.”

“Okay, okay, fine. Uh, somethin’ bad happened last night.”

“How bad?”

“Robots. Lots of ‘em. This group of them ambushed us last night and some of us almost died.”

“What?” Miss Pauling moved something on her end of the line, making a thump sound. Scout figured she was moving a body. “Didn’t Medic heal you guys?”

“Ya see, that’s part of the problem here. He ran out of Medi Gun fluid like two weeks ago.”

“Two weeks!” she shrieked. “Scout, why didn’t you tell me?”

Scout reclined against the wall. “It’s his freakin’ gun; not my problem.”

She sighed. “I’ll order more and have a shipment sent as soon as possible. What else happened?”

“Engie’s been lookin’ at the robots, and they’re really freakin’ weird. They’re, like, built to target one of us and were meant to be resistant to our attacks. Like, Pyro’s was really fire-proof. That kind of crap.”

“Did he find anything else?”

“Dunno. He said they were from Gray Gravel Co., that’s for sure.”

“That means they’re taking a more aggressive approach. Crap…” Another thud. Scout guessed she tossed the body into the hole she was digging. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Yeah, sure thing. Oh, right, I almost forgot: one of ‘em went after Sniper. It pulled out one of those weird tube things.”

“What about it?”

“We thought he had some Australium in his blood. Ya know, ‘cuz he grew surrounded with that crap. Don’t worry; Medic ran a test, and he ain’t got any.”

Miss Pauling let out a sigh or relief. “Thank God. It must have just gotten desperate enough to resort to that.”

“Wait, t-they do that?”

“Yeah.” She chuckled. “You didn’t know that?”

“No, I mean, uh, yeah! Yeah, ‘course I knew that!”

Sounding slightly irritated, she said, “Anything else?”

“Uh, no.”

“Well, if you don’t need anything else, I’ve got work to do,” Miss Pauling said.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

“Goodbye, Scout.”

She hung up, leaving Scout with his thoughts once more. He dived onto the sofa, clicked on the grainy television set, and sat on the sofa. It only took a few moments for him to remember that the baseball season wouldn’t be starting for another week, so he couldn’t tune into the opening game to distract himself. Scout groaned and forced himself to watch the cheesy action flick that was currently airing. It was enough to quiet his fears for the moment.

The hours dragged by. Scout glanced up at the clock on the wall after the credits began; it was late and he regretted staying up to finish the movie. He yawned, stretched, then put himself to bed.

He rolled onto his side, he tried kicking his blankets off, pulling them back up again, and then laying on his back once more. No matter which way he positioned himself, he couldn’t get comfortable. Scout’s mind wouldn’t quiet down long enough to let the relief of a good night’s sleep come, not when his mom was probably in danger.

Eventually, after fighting insomnia for a few hours, Scout rolled out of bed and dragged himself down the hall toward the kitchen to grab a snack. Fried chicken would help; it could solve anything.

Just as he was about to leave the sleeping quarters, he heard a door behind him click open. Checking over his shoulder, he saw Medic leaving one of the rooms. He quickly realized he wasn’t leaving his own room; Medic’s room was farther down the hall.

Scout smirked and walked back toward him. “Hey, Doc, what were ya doing in Heavy’s room?”

“He needed some medical attention,” he said matter-of-factly, straightening his glasses.

Scout snorted a laugh. “Did it require kissin’ it better?”

Wrinkles of surprise covered his forehead and face started to redden. “ _Nein_.”

“Oh, but I think it did.”

Medic furrowed his brow. “It didn’t.”

He smirked. “Oh really?”

“Yes.”

Scout’s smile somehow managed to look even more conceited. “Really.”

He narrowed his eyes as the younger man. With a warning tone, he said, “What are you getting at?”

“You know exactly what I’m gettin’ at.”

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Why not?”

Medic gritted his teeth. “Scout, you’re trying my patience.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t want to talk about how you and Heavy are doin’, huh?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, Medic stretched out his clenched hands for a moment, then let them curl up tighter than they had been before. His face flushed red, yet it was unclear if it was because of his anger or embarrassment.

Scout snickered at first and was soon howling with laughter without regard for the hour of the night. “God, I knew it! I so freakin’ knew it!” He continued, laughing so hard that he keeled over and pulled his arms across his stomach. Between breaths, he said, “It was so obvious!” “Doc’s got a boyfriend! Doc’s got a-”

“ _Schweinehund_!” Medic growled, shoving him by the neck against the wall with a thud.

Scout clawed at the man’s hands, kicking wildly yet somehow failing to hit his attacker with any of them. His face rapidly turned from pink to red to purple. As black spots danced in his vision, the door opened.

“Doctor?” Heavy asked. “What is the matter?”

Medic looked over and offered a tight-lipped smile. “Funny you should ask that. I am choking Scout.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Choking Scout?”

“Well, no. Choking is what happens when you inhale a piece of food. What I am doing is strangling Scout with my bare hands.” Tightening his grip a little, he pleasantly added, “Go back to bed, Misha.”

Scout tried once again to pry the hands off of his neck and gasped for air.

Eying them from head to toe, he said, “Let little baby man go.” Heavy then turned back around and shut the door.

Medic pursed his lip thoughtfully and slightly loosened his grip before letting go all together. The young man tumbled to the floor in a heap.

“W-What the hell is wrong with you?” he wheezed. With some effort, he got back to his feet. Scout coughed several times, rubbing at his throat and using the wall to support himself.

Medic huffed, crossing his arms and sending a murderous glare his way. “You should be thankful that I let you live.”

“What’s the-” He paused to cough again. “big deal?”

He let out a weary sigh, sounding as though any energy he had had been spent in his murder attempt. “The love we have, it's…” He flitted his eyes to the door. “ _verboten_.”

A second later, and Scout registered the concern. “Oh. Yeah, right. That.”

“If you tell anyone, I _will_ kill you.”

“Okay okay, fine. I won't tell, whatever. But what’s in it for me?”

“Scout, I mean it. You can’t talk about this.”

“I won’t.” Scout held up a finger. “On one condition.”

Medic groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What is it?”

“Get me a date with Miss Pauling. Steak dinner.”

“ _Mein Gott_ , is that it?”

Scout tapped his chin as he thought. “Now that you mention it, I also want season’s tickets to the Red Sox games, a new car…”

“I'll get you the date, but nothing else”

“You're not in much of a spot to be negotiatin’ here,” he said with a smug grin.

“Would you like to be dead?”

“God, no.”

Medic smiled. “We have a deal, then.”

Scout held out his hand, which Medic shook rigidly. With a short nod, the man departed for his own room, then Scout went on his own way. Once he was in the kitchen, he yanked the fridge open and grabbed his bucket of fried chicken, plopping down in a chair at the table and setting the food beside him. Munching on a leg, he thought of what he’d wear to impress Miss Pauling. The suit jacket he had in his bedroom closet back home in Boston would emphasize his shoulders. With an outfit as sleek as that, there’d be no way she’d be able to resist his incredibly sexy looks and obvious charm. It still puzzled him as to why she hadn’t fallen for him yet. A steak dinner had to be enough to win her heart. After all, who didn’t love a juicy steak with a funny, handsome man such as himself?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I’m glad I was able to get this chapter out in a better time-frame than I have in the past. Let’s see if I can keep it up! I hope you’ve been enjoying this so far; comments and constructive criticism are always welcome and appreciated!
> 
> Also, did anyone catch the Borderlands 2 reference?


	3. Steak Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Warning: this chapter contains horrendous phonetic spellings and butchered foreign words. I’m sorry.

RED Team Base, Kitchen - Badlands, New Mexico, USA. Thursday, March 29th, 1973

* * *

" _Ja_ , hello? Ah, _guten tag_.” Medic paused to listen, a tight-lipped smile across his lips. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Heavy continued to wash their lunch dishes as he waited for the man to finish his phone call. He hadn't bothered to explain who he was calling or why, only stating that he wouldn't be long. He had a funny, tense air about him all morning. It was even there during breakfast and when he was caring for his doves; he usually couldn't stop smiling when he was among his feathered friends. Heavy occasionally looked at Medic, but mostly just listened as he dunked his hands into the hot, soapy water and thought about the chess game they had agreed to play later. Considering the odd mood he was in, Heavy was debating going easy on him for once. Winning a game of chess would have to cheer him up slightly.

“I need some cadavers. … We’ve been killing robots; of course I don't have spare bodies lying around.” Medic absently twirled the phone cord around his finger. “I need them soon. … Mhmm, yes. ... For my experiments. Some organs would be good as well. … Wait, how did you know about that?” After listening a bit longer, he sighed and said, “Of course he told you. Well, _ja_ , send me some of that as well; the team would like it if I could heal them again.”

Heavy shook his head with a slight smile. Scout had a nasty habit of babbling about everything he knew to anyone willing to listen to him for longer than a minute. Since the team was recently informed of the Übercharge fluid shortage, it made sense to him how word would quickly get out. As expected, Medic neglected to tell them how he ran out; that much remained a secret the two of them to take with them to their graves. Heavy’s temporary death alone was enough of a reason to not discuss the accident. Over the two weeks following that evening, Heavy had tried to rebuild his trust in the doctor. He just hoped whoever he was speaking to would deliver the corpses soon so Medic wouldn’t get bored enough to try experimenting on the team again, namely himself. Imagining the ideas he’d cook up in his head, if given the chance, filled him with dread.

“By the way, could you do me a favour? … _Wunderbar_. Would you be interested in going out for dinner tomorrow night?”

Heavy shot his head up. Medic looked as though he were about to gag, yet his voice was as smooth as velvet. He couldn’t believe his ears. Was he cheating on him with the mysterious phone person and couldn’t be bothered to try to keep it from him? Or, was he already seeing them and was actually cheating on that person with him? He didn’t want to know which it was, but it either one broke his heart. Heavy scrubbed at the bottom of a pot aggressively enough that the scouring pad became a torn mess from the dry, baked-on food stuck to it. In his anger, he realized he had forgotten to add soap and wet the sponge first and now it was only fit for the trash.

“What?” Medic’s lip curled in disgust. “ _Nein_ , not with me. With Scout.”

He let out a deep sigh of relief.

Medic listened for a bit, biting his lip as he waited. “Just this once, please?” he asked. A grin, one Heavy recognized to be sincere for once, spread across his face at the sound of the answer. “ _Danke schön. Danke, danke, danke_! I will hear from you soon. Good day.” With that, he hung up and joined Heavy at the sink, picking up one of the plates and drying it with the old tea towel. “Sorry for the wait.”

Heavy shot him a look and dunked the pot with the stubborn mess into the water, then snatched the next plate off of the counter..

“What?”

“You ask someone on a date. Why?”

Medic shook his head. “No. Well, _ja_ , I did, but it wasn’t for me.”

“Who was Doctor talking to?”

“Miss Pauling.”

“You are not seeing her?”

“What? _Nein_ , it was for Scout!” Seeing the distrust in his eyes, he let out an uncomfortable laugh and said, “You do not think I would do that to you, do you?”

Heavy sighed and shook his head, passing off the clean dish to be dried.

Medic took the dish and rubbed the towel over it. “Misha, you know I love you. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

“You scared me.”

“I know, but-”

“Why is Doctor helping whiney baby man?”

“I…” Medic put the plate on its shelf in the cupboard. “It’s complicated.”

He pulled the plug and watched the bubbly water swirl down the drain. “Tell me.”

He laughed again, sounding just as anxious as he had before. “You’re... not going to like this.”

Heavy dried his hands on the towel. “I do not care. Tell me.” He folded it neatly and draped it over the oven door handle to dry.

“Remember last night?”

“ _Da._ ”

“Well, that was because he… caught me, leaving your room last night. He knows about us.”

Heavy blinked, his expression blank. He scanned Medic’s face for any hint of jest, yet saw no indication of it. “You joke, _da_?”

Medic shook his head.

“ Oh my God…” He held his forehead in his hand. “This is bad. Very bad.”

“Don’t worry.” He smiled and pat his shoulder. “I took care of him. Oh, do you know the difference between choking and strangling?”

“Yes. Doctor told me already.”

“Oh. Well, I strangled him.”

“Mmm,” the Russian hummed. “I know.”

The doors swung open and in strode Demoman, bleary-eyed from the night of heavy drinking. “Ayy, lads!”

Medic continued to smile as if nothing were wrong, silently giving Heavy a look that said ‘we’ll talk more later’. “Ah, _guten tag, Herr Demo_. Would either of you like a beer?”

“Of course I would! Why the bloody hell wouldn’t I?”

After a moment of pause, Heavy said, “ _Da_.”

He turned to the dated fridge but stopped before opening it. “What’s this?”

“What is what?” Heavy asked, coming to join him. Both of them stared at the fridge door, puzzled. On it hung a colourful crayon drawing of rainbows, a unicorn-like creature, and an array of candies. Two stick figures vaguely resembling a certain pyromaniac and a man wearing goggles and a hardhat could be seen in the corner. “Uh… I do not know.”

“What’s takin’ ye so long?” Demoman mumbled, joining them. Now that he was closer, it was evident that he had already been drinking. “Who drew that rubbish?”

“I have no idea,” Medic said, finally opening the fridge and grabbing three bottles. He passed them out and popped the cap off of his own, taking a large swig of it.

Heavy scratched his chin and stared at the drawing. “It look like Pyro’s picture.”

“Ye think the wee lass drew it?”

Heavy raised and eyebrow. “Pyro is a girl?”

Demoman shrugged. “Hell if I know, lad. Nobody knows what that thing is.” Holding his beer up, he said, “Cheers, mate,” and took a drink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, “Hmm, this stuff ain’t half bad.”

Heavy sniffed his drink and took a small sip then made a bit of a face.

Medic put a hand on his hip and tipped the mouth of the bottle toward Demoman. “It’s a German import.”

“Almost as good as my stuff,” Demoman said.

He snorted. “Everyone knows German beer is the best.”

“We Scots make the best bloody drinks!”

“Is good, but Doctor has work.” Heavy gave a placating smile and nudged Medic closer to the door.

“No, I- _Ja_ , I almost forgot! Heavy and I have work to do.”

Demoman said, “Take care, lads,” and downed another sip.

Heavy and Medic quickly departed for the lab; Heavy tried but failed to keep pace as the doctor swiftly marched down the hall. Once Heavy caught up, Medic promptly shut the door and let out a weary sigh.

“That was close,” he said.

“Too close,” Heavy added.

For a while, they stood in silence, occasionally stealing a look at one another before darting their gaze elsewhere, much like a guilty child would avoid eye contact with their parent after getting caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar. Medic sipped his beer and eventually said, “Do you still want to play that chess game?”

Heavy gave a stiff nod and made his way to the crude table and chairs. In the back corner of the lab was an old wooden crate with a simple chessboard atop it, set up and ready to played. Medic insisted that it be left in order after each game. In place of chairs were a pair of wooden milk crates. The makeshift set almost seemed out of place in the lab, but neither of them cared about the lack of aesthetic appeal.

Heavy sat himself in front of the black pawns, the side he always sat at, and set his barely-sipped beer on the floor beside the crate. Medic sat across from him and said, “Would you like to go first?”

“You can go.”

He plucked a pawn from the front line and made his move. Heavy slid a pawn forward then crossed his arms, keeping his eyes on the board.

After a few silent turns back and forth, Medic asked, “What’s wrong?”

Heavy didn’t look up from the pawns.

“Why aren’t you talking to me? I told you the truth: I’m not cheating.”

Heavy grunted in response.

“I got the date, so our secret is safe.”

Heavy made his move, lining a piece up to take out one of Medic’s pawns. “I do not trust him; is big ask for loud boy.”

Medic smirked. “He would do anything to go out with her. Even keep a secret.”

“I hope you are right. I do not want them to know. Not yet.”

“I know, Misha, and they won’t. You have my word. Anyway, back to the game.” Medic pushed another pawn forward and reached across the table to hold Heavy’s hand. “Your turn.”

He slid a pawn forward with his free hand and studied the board, attempting to guess the next move. When Medic moved his piece, he saw that his prediction had been correct. He made his next move and said, “Think you will win, Doctor?”

“ _Nein_ , not today. Maybe one day.”

Heavy chuckled. “Why not today?”

He shrugged and pushed another piece. “You’re good at this; better than I am.”

Taking another pawn, Heavy knocked down one of Medic’s pawns with a playful smile. “Boom. Dead.”

Medic gave a frustrated huff and removed the fallen piece from the board, setting it to the side. “My point still stands.”

“Game is far from over.” Seeing his current demeanor, he made up his mind: he’d let Medic win, but not without putting up a good fight first. He’d make sure it wouldn’t feel like a pity victory.

Medic made his move, stone-faced. Heavy couldn’t help but smile. He was adorable when he was grumpy. Of course, he never said this out loud. The longer they played, the more frustrated he got. His eyes narrowed, he took his hand back and repeatedly crossed and uncrossed his arms. Yet, when he managed to eliminate some of Heavy’s pawns, he gave a triumphant laugh and a glimmer of joy flashed in his eyes. It was worth it to Heavy to see him so happy. Eventually, Medic declared, ‘checkmate’ with a proud grin.

“You beat me,” Heavy replied, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“Finally,” he said, a cocky smile spread across his face for a brief moment.

“See? I knew you could.”

Medic shrugged, setting the pieces back on the board one by one.

The two men sat in calm silence for a few moments as he set the game back to rights. Soon, Medic said, “By the way, I know you let me win.”

Heavy smiled softly. “ _Da_?”

“ _Ja_. Why?”

“Simple: Doctor needed cheering up. If Doctor is hurt, he does not heal team. If Doctor is sad, he does not work well. So, I must keep Doctor safe and happy. It is my job.” His smile grew. “And I love this job.”

Medic rolled his eyes. “I don’t need you to look after me.”

“I want to, _radost' moya_.” He watched as a light pink blush came to his cheeks.

“I’m… flattered, but you didn’t need to do that.”

Feigning ignorance, Heavy asked, “Do what?”

“Go easy on me.”

“Did not go too easy. Just little bit.”

He cracked his knuckles. “Well, let’s try this again, _ja_? This time, give it your all.”

* * *

Rattlesnake Grill, Teufort, New Mexico, USA. Friday, March 30th, 1973.

* * *

Miss Pauling tucked a loose strand of black hair behind her ear as she strode through the doors of the cheesy, western-themed restaurant. It baffled her as to why anyone in Teufort would be excited to eat at a restaurant modeled after the dirt-pit the town was situated in, especially with the gaudy cowboy and cowgirl costumes the waitstaff adorned. It didn’t surprise her that Scout would take her to a tex-mex bar and think it was a place for a fancy dinner date.

Maybe the night would go better than she thought. Scout could have intentionally picked a lame restaurant as a joke. At least, that’s what she hoped it was. Whether his pathetic attempts at flirting with her were deliberate or not, she couldn’t know for sure. Unlike times before, he at least had her intrigued this time.

Inside the doors of the restaurant Scout was waiting on one of the wood benches set up in front of the hostess’ stand. He stood up and straightened his bowtie as soon as he saw her. The slight man scarcely appeared to be any broader with the padded shoulders of the suit jacket. If anything, Miss Pauling was almost impressed that he even owned a proper suit, even if he was overdressed for the casual atmosphere of the restaurant.

“Hey there, uh… good lookin’,” he said with a smile that she guessed was his attempt to appear seductive. It looked more awkward than sexy.

“Yeah, hi.”

“You ready to have the best freakin’ date ever?”

“I guess,” Miss Pauling said slowly.

Scout grinned and approached the hostess. “Yeah, I’m gonna need a table for two. Stat.”

The hostess smiled and grabbed two menus and told them to follow her. She lead them to a booth seat and set the menus down. When they sat, she asked, “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“One bottle of any fine-ass wine you’ve got.” Scout paused momentarily. “Please.”

“Alright. I’ll be back to take your orders in a few minutes.” The waitress strutted away from the table.

“Thank God you didn’t order the water,” Miss Pauling said.

Scout leaned an elbow on the table and rested his chin on his upturned hand. “Yeah, yeah, but you look beautiful! I mean, uh… y-yeah, beautiful! That’s it, right?”

She rolled her eyes and flipped through the menu.

“So, uh, how was work? Do anythin’ interesting?”

“I spent most of the day filing the fingerprints off of a pile of bodies. Oh, and The Administrator really isn’t happy about the Medi Gun fluid. Or the robots.”

“Oh. Uh, sorry. That’s rough.” Scout cracked open his menu and immediately turned to the steak section.

Miss Pauling continued to sift look through the various meaty entrees, a slight pout coming to her lips as she considered the options.

“What’re you gettin’?”

“I think I’ll get the blue cheese steak.”

Scout smiled and closed his menu. “Sounds good. I’m gettin’ the Saxton Special.”

She cracked a smile at this. The waitress then briefly came to deliver the wine and take their orders. When they were alone again, Miss Pauling asked, “So tell me, Scout: why did Medic ask me out to dinner with you?”

“What? Uh, no. No, that was all me.”

“Really? It sure sounded like him on the phone.”

Scout tapped his fingers on the table. “Yeah, it was me. I was tryin’ out my German accent.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“What? Don’t believe me or somethin’? Want me to do it again?”

“Sure…”

Scout cleared his throat and said, “ _Guten tage,_ Mizz Pauling. It is I, ze Medic!”

At first, a smile tugged at her lips. Soon, Miss Pauling covered her mouth to conceal the snorty giggles that escaped her lips.

“Vhy are you laughin’ at me?”

She wiped tears from her eyes with the napkin at her place setting. “Oh my God!”

“Stop laughing! Zis is a serious discussion!”

“Scout, you sound nothing like him!” she managed to say as she gasped for air, breathless from laughter.

“Vhat are you talkin’ about, _dumbcough_? I zound exactly like ze doc!”

Regaining her composure, she said, “I know he asked for you. You can stop.”

“But it vas me!”

“Really, you can stop now. You sound like Dracula.”

Scout held his forehead in his hands. “Aw crap.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” she said, reaching across the table to pat him on the shoulder. She offered a soft smile. “You still got me to come to dinner. And your impression was really funny.”

“I know, but- wait, you’re touchin’ my shoulder.” He looked up, mouth slightly agape.

Miss Pauling smiled. “I am.”

“You don’t think it’s real freakin’ lame that I didn’t ask ya out myself?”

“Um… It’s okay. But why-” Before she could finish her question, the waitress returned and placed their meals before them. Miss Pauling pulled her arm back. On her plate was a small cut of steak topped with blue cheese with a side of cheesy nacho chips. Scout’s was just a massive steak that took up the entire plate, cooked rare with a light seasoning on it. He immediately cut into the ridiculous serving.

“As I was saying, why _did_ Medic ask for you?” Miss Pauling asked. “I didn’t think you two were that close.”

Scout chewed his bite of steak thoughtfully then answered. “Medic hooked up with Heavy and I found out about it so he didn’t want me to tell nobody. He owed me one.”

“Oh.” She smiled slightly to herself and munched on a chip. “That… doesn’t surprise me. Like, at all.”

He laughed and shook his head. “It’s so freakin’ obvious!”

“You know, you could have asked me yourself; I wouldn’t have said no.”

“Seriously?”

“Yup.”

“Damn.” Scout and Miss Pauling drifted into silence for a few minutes, quietly enjoying their meals. She seemed to be having a good time on their date. At least, he thought she was. He sometimes couldn’t tell whether she liked him at all or if she just tolerated his presence, especially after the briefcase alarm incident. Miss Pauling was far from impressed about that one. She said she wanted to do it again, yet she also seemed pretty mad about it as well. For most of the meal he debated it, yet he still couldn’t guess how she really felt. The jokes were true: women really were complicated.

“So tell me: what do you do when you’re not working?” Miss Pauling chuckled and added, “I never get any time off, so I don’t know what most people do for fun.”

“Oh, uh, you know. Stuff. I mean, uh, I play baseball and I run. And I lift like 300 pounds _all the time_. Ya know, ‘cuz I can. Oh, and I like goin’ home to watch the Red Sox games and see my Ma.” His expression turned dark without warning and he set his utensils down.

“Scout, are you okay?”

“I tried callin’ Ma that night I called you but she didn’t pick up.”

Miss Pauling dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “I’m sure she was just busy.”

“Yeah, but she _always_ picks up. I didn’t even know she had voicemail.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Reclaiming his knife and fork he hacked at the meat again, sawing aggressively at it with the knife. “Those Gray Gravel bastards wouldn’t know where I live, right?”

“Probably not.”

“But they could?”

She shrugged. “It’s possible, but we keep your information as confidential as possible. TF Industries doesn’t want any unnecessary security breaches. It’s my job to go kill whoever finds out something they shouldn’t.”

“You don’t think they kidnapped my Ma, do ya?”

“Nope. I’m sure she’s fine.” Miss Pauling smiled. “Why don’t we try calling her again after dinner?”

“Uh, you mean together?”

“Yup. I want to make sure she’s okay.”

Scout’s eyes danced with delight. “Uh... yeah! You bet!”

The two finished their meal, paid, and left the restaurant as quickly as they could. They got into their cars and drove back to base. After the two of them regrouped inside of the garage, Scout said, “Uh, hey, Miss Pauling?”

She looked at him, waiting patiently for him to continue. He made note of the way her eyes briefly met his, the soft crinkle of a dimple, and the way her glasses sat ever so slightly crooked on her nose. Scout almost wished he could have frozen time simply to keep looking at her beautiful face as it was at that moment. Remembering she was waiting for an answer, he said, “I was wonderin’ if you, uh… I mean, how ya…”

Miss Pauling snickered.

“Aw crap. How do I put this? I was wantin’ to... know how ya feel about me. I mean, I have no freakin’ idea, and it’s been like six years.”

“I like you Scout,” she said rather quickly. “You can be a bit… excitable sometimes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like you. After that night you pulled the briefcase alarm, I’ve wanted to spend more time with you.”

“Oh, s-so ya liked that? I thought you were real mad at me or somthin’.”

“I was furious!” Miss Pauling exclaimed. “You pressed the one button you’re never supposed to press!” Lowering her voice, she added, “but it kind of worked,” tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Despite his efforts a blush came to his cheeks. “It did? I mean, uh, of course it did! I knew it would.”

“I didn’t know why you were throwing a prom or something, until I realized you did that as a joke!” Recalling the memory, she dissolved into a fit of giggles.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, it was obviously a joke! I’m real funny, aren’t I?”

Sobering up, she said, “We can talk about this a bit more later. Right now, we need to make sure your mom is safe.”

* * *

RED Team Base, Intel Room - Badlands, New Mexico, USA. Saturday, March 31th, 1973

* * *

He let out a short laugh as he smoothed out the sheet of crumpled copy paper out on the desk. “Those trash cans won’t know what hit them!” He examined his intricately crafted tactics, starting with the ingenious disguises, greatly improved from last time. There’d be no chance of them getting caught this time. He smiled at his plans then frowned. “Zhanna?”

There was no answer.

“Zhanna? Did you hear me, private?”

She was sitting at the other end of the room, her arms folded over her chest and her legs crossed. When Soldier looked at her, she shook her head and picked up the book she had near her. Soldier guessed it was a copy of the _Communist Manifesto_ ; it had to be.

“So you _didn’t_ hear me!” Soldier took his paper in hand and marched over to her. Pulling up a chair beside her, he held it right in front of her face and barked a bit too close to ear, “Tell me what you think of the battle plans!”

Zhanna snatched the paper form his hand and folded it in half, then stuffed it into the open book. “It makes good bookmark.”

“No! Not my battle plans!” Soldier tried to pry the book out of her hands, yet she guarded it well. “Those are real American plans! They’re too good to be in that book of communist crap!”

“Book is _Animal Farm_. It is book about communism being bad.”

“... Oh. Uh…”

With a sigh, she cracked the book open again and handed the crinkled paper back to her fiance. “Zhanna is still not happy. Maggot-Bear still sleep in hall.”

“Damn it.” Soldier crossed his arms with a pout, seemingly not caring about how mangled his precious plans became.

“I will let you sleep in bed when you stop being stupid man. But you are still being stupid man.” With that, she stood up, and smoothly strode out of the room. Zhanna flicked her pigtails over her shoulder, making sure Soldier saw it.

Where she had been sitting was the book she had been reading, adorned with pictures of farm animals and the title. Soldier scratched his chin as he peered at the suspicious cover. Surely it was a trick the communists were using to lure in unsuspecting people. Or was it? He trusted Zhanna, and he want to believe she was telling the truth. Hesitantly, he plucked the small book from its resting place, holding it as if it could burn him. Soldier then opened it to the first page; he’d be the one to determine who was telling the truth.


	4. Contract Change

RED Headquarters - Location: classified. Saturday, March 31st, 1973.

* * *

 “I expected better from you, of all people.” She took a long drag of her cigarette and made a series of perfect rings in the air with the smoke.

“I-I know. I’m sorry, Administrator. It won’t happen again, I promise!”

She gave a wry smile, tapping her cigarette with her finger. The ashtray sat nearby on her desk, yet she didn’t seem to care about the mess of smoldering debris that was now settled on the floor. “And why should I believe you?”

“Why shouldn’t you?” Resisting the urge to nervously fuss over her clothing and hair, she added, “You trust me with everything.”

She rolled her eyes. “ I know. That’s why your recent failure is so… out of character. It’s not like you to shirk your duties, Miss Pauling.”

“Oh, uh, well…There was a lot of work yesterday and I just couldn’t finish it all.”

“Do you take me for an idiot?”

She felt her heart leap in her chest. “No, Ma’am! Of course not!”

The Administrator uncrossed her legs, leaning forward in her desk chair. “Then why are you lying to me?”

She hugged her clipboard closer to her chest as if it were a shield that could have protected her from the woman’s wrath. She swallowed hard and remained silent. The Administrator stared her down, taking a sharp drag of her cigarette.

“Miss Pauling, I see everything. Do you think I didn’t see Scout parading around the base in that ill-fitted suit? Do you think I didn’t see you show up with him a few hours later?”

Miss Pauling hung her head. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

She huffed. “Good.”

“I-I did follow up with him about the phone call.”

The Administrator raised an eyebrow. She reclined in her seat once more, causing the chair’s tilt mechanism to creak as she shifted her weight. “What did he tell you?”

“He gave me an update on what’s happening at the base.” Barely waiting for a signal to continue, she said, “Sniper tested negative for Australium. Engie also confirmed that the robots were from Gray Gravel Co. And Medic still needs more Medi Gun fluid. And some cadavers.”

“I’ll get you what the psychopath wants. But, before I do, you’re going to tell me more about these robots and that Australium.”

“There’s… not really much else to say.” Miss Pauling adjusted her glasses before glancing at the notes she had recently clutched to her chest. “We still don’t know what Gray Gravel Co. is going to try next, let alone when.”

“But they _are_ still after the Australium, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“So I thought.” Extinguishing her cigarette, she laced her fingers together and set them on her lap. “Miss Pauling, I have a special mission for you. Failure will _not_ be tolerated.”

“You can count on me.”

* * *

RED Team Base, Outside - Badlands, New Mexico, USA. Monday, April 2nd, 1973.

* * *

“Hustle, men! Those sandbags won’t carry themselves!” Soldier barked, jogging ahead with two sacs on each shoulder, the minimum load he imposed for the group. Despite the weight, he was keeping pace and barely showing a sign of fatigue, even in the warm afternoon sun. It wasn’t as hot as it could be during the summer, but it certainly wasn’t refreshing.

“Remind me why we’re doin’ this crap,” Scout complained, fumbling with his load but still managing to be quick on his feet despite the challenge.

Before Soldier could launch into another lecture about the importance of maintaining a regular training regime, Engineer said, “It’ll be easier if you shut yer trap.”

“Can it, hardhat!” he panted. “You’re hardly doin’ better!”

Heavy dragged behind the rest of the team, only lightly jogging. Zhanna stayed with him, keeping a similar pace. Rather than attempting to keep up, he carried eight sandbags stacked on his shoulders and two cradled in his arms as though he were carrying a baby. Zhanna held six, three on each shoulder.

Medic, intentionally sticking to the back of the group, turned around and stopped running for a moment to smile at Heavy. With a breathless laugh, he said, “Don’t make me wait on you.”

“You are fast; you go ahead. I stay here.”

He shook his head. Holding the sandbags to his shoulders, he dashed ahead to make up for the distance, leaving Heavy by himself several meters back.

“You do not run with Soldier?” Heavy asked his sister.

“No. He has not apologized yet.”

“I hope he does soon.”

Meanwhile, Scout charged ahead of Soldier, shooting him a conceited grin as he passed by. As soon as he arrived back in front of the doors to their base, he let out a triumphant laugh and let his burden tumble to the ground. “How do ya like that, fellas?” He flexed, examining his non-existent bicep muscle with glee. As he was about to parade around, showing off his alleged strength, he tripped over the sandbags he just dropped, causing him to land flat on his face. As if taking revenge for their encounter a few nights before, Medic howled with laughter.

“I’m not healing that, _dummkopf_.”

“Go to hell,” he mumbled, picking himself back up.

A van pulled in, shaking him from his glory. Within a few seconds, most of the team had joined him.

Pyro mumbled something that sounded like a question.

“What’s with the van, you ask?” Engineer clarified, wiping some sweat from his brow. “I have no idea.” The door opened and a petite woman hopped out. He chuckled and said, “Well I’ll be. Someone’s in luck.”

It was Miss Pauling. “Hey, guys.”

Scout scrambled to dust his clothing off. “Uh, h-hey there, Miss Pauling! Uh, what’re you doin’ here?”

“I’m… moving in. Administrator’s orders.”

He shook his head quickly, eyes sparkling like a child in a toy store. “Wait, really?”

“Yup. I’m here to oversee the Australium project.”

Scout uttered a series of unintelligible sounds, mouth agape. A few of the guys snickered, yet he was too stunned to notice or care.

“Mind helping me carry my things inside?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, of course!” With that, he bolted to the back of the van, suddenly filled with new energy.

Heavy and Zhanna then caught up with the rest of the team, who promptly filled them in on the recent turn of events. They agreed to help Miss Pauling unload her belongings, which only took a few trips to and from the van to complete. After they had brought her things into the common room, Demoman asked, “So, where are you going to be staying, lass?”

“Well, where do you have space?”

“In my room!” Scout said, pointing his thumbs toward himself. “Obviously.”

“Yeah, _no_ ,” she said quickly. Scout pouted, a stormy air coming over him just as quickly as his previous joy had. To this, she said, “Scout, it’s not personal. It’s just too soon, that’s all.”

He crossed his arms with a huff. “Fine.”

Sniper chuckled. “Nice try, mate. But to answer your question, I think we’ve got that one locked up room at the end of the hall. Reserved for Mann Co. personnel or something like that.”

“That will work.” She took a few of her bags and took off down the hall toward what would soon be her quarters.

* * *

After they had finished setting up her room, Scout and Miss Pauling went to the Common Room phone to try once more to call his mother. When they had tried a few nights before, she still hadn’t answered, likely due to the late hour of the night. Surely, since it was around dinner time, she would pick up, assuming she was safe.

Scout lifted the receiver and punched in the number, then waited. Miss Pauling stood beside him for a few seconds before taking his hand in hers, giving it a squeeze. He smiled slightly.

“Hello?”

His face lit up. “Oh thank God!

“Joel? Is everything alright?”

“It is now, yeah!” Scout nodded to Miss Pauling, who gave a thumbs up. “You’re doin’ okay, right?”

“Um… yes,” she said, sounding confused.

“That’s great! So, what’ve you been up to?”

“I’ve just been around the house; made some cookies last night.”

“You made my favourites, didn’t ya?”

“Of course, sweetie. If you were closer to home, I’d send some over to ya.”

He smiled. “Aww, thanks, Ma.”

On her end of the phone, a voice faintly said something that Scout couldn’t make out. It was clearly a man’s voice, but it was all he knew.

“I’m sorry, I need to go.”

“Ma? Ma, who is that?”

“I’ll call you tomorrow. I love you!”

“Don’t hang up!” The line was dead before he had even finished speaking. Scout sighed and hung up.

“What happened?” Miss Pauling asked.

“Some guy’s there. And she just… hung up; didn’t say nothin’.”

“Oh…” She smiled slightly. “Well, at least you know she’s safe, right?”

“She said she was fine, but, like… who _was_ that guy? It'd better not be one of the bad guys. Or one of those creeps tryin’ to get close to her again.”

“Scout, I’m sure she’s okay.”

He nodded, hanging his head.

She planted a kiss on his cheek. “Why don’t we do something to take your mind off of things?”

His cheeks grew warm, a smile now plastered across his lips. “Uh… Yeah, okay.” The two of them sat down on one of the couches in front of the television set, where Soldier, Medic, and Sniper were watching a show. Pyro was lying on their stomach and absently kicking their legs in the air in front of the small screen. It quickly became clear that it was a kids show, too. Medic and Sniper looked as though they were about to fall asleep, while Soldier seemed to be interested. Pyro’s eyes were glued to the screen, or it at least seemed as though they were; the mask made it difficult to know for sure.

The show cut to a commercial break, and Pyro groaned. First, an advertisement for colourful toy ponies played, accompanied by scenes of happy little girls moving the horses along the screen to the tune of an irritating jingle. It seemed like something Pyro would like. Scout was almost surprised that they weren’t currently watching the cartoon that went with it. The next commercial came on, showing a child struggling at school, followed by a woman’s voice that said, “Got a problem that won’t shut up?”

Medic, eyes closed and curled up on his side with his glasses twisted awkwardly on his face, mumbled, “Ja.”

Sniper chuckled, on the verge of nodding off himself. He had his hat tipped over his face and his head rested on the back of the couch, feet kicked up on the rustic coffee table.

Leaning a bit closer to him, Miss Pauling asked, “Are they… always like this?”

“Oh yeah,” Scout replied a little too loudly. “Every. Freakin’. Day.”

Sniper sat up and pushed the hat back to its usual spot. “Some of us are trying to sleep around here.”

“Not my problem.”

He firmly planted his feet on the floor, glaring at the younger man from behind his sepia-tinted shades. “I’m bloody tired after carrying all those boxes. I carried more than you anyway.”

“Hell no! I carried way more!”

Miss Pauling cringed. She was surprised to see Medic undisturbed in his sleep. Pyro and Soldier, thankfully, seemed to be minding their own business. Offering a placating smile, she said, “It doesn’t really matter who carried them. You both helped with the move in.”

Before either man could hurl another insult to continue the squabble, Heavy strode into the room with a smile. Either he hadn’t heard the commotion from outside or he simply didn’t care. “Dinner is ready,” he said. “Is Mother’s recipe, so it is good.”

“Thank you, Heavy,” Miss Pauling said, getting up and heading to the kitchen. Scout and Sniper shot each other one final glare before following suit, with Soldier close behind them. Pyro lingered for a moment before reluctantly dragging themself away from their show to have dinner with the rest of the team.

Medic didn’t rouse at the call to the meal. Once Heavy realized he was asleep, he turned off the T.V. before dropping to one knee in front of the couch. For a moment he simply watched him, almost not wanting to disturb his peaceful rest. With his meaty hand, he lightly shook Medic’s shoulder. “Wake up, Doctor. It’s dinner time.”

He let out a short gasp like he would if a spy had suddenly appeared behind him. Medic sat up quickly and straightened his glasses, revealing a faint red mark where the arm had been pressed against his face. “How long was I out for?”

“I do not know. But, is time for dinner now.” Offering a hand, Heavy helped him up and the two joined the rest of the team in the kitchen.

Heavy mostly served the team himself, ladling the borscht he had been simmering on the stove for the past few hours into bowls for each person, passing them out as he prepared them. Before passing a bowl to anyone, he spooned a dollop of sour cream into the centre and stuck a piece of dill into it. Taking a look at those seated at the table, he noticed that everyone was there except for Spy, who he hadn’t seen since yesterday.

“Where is Spy?” Heavy asked, setting the bowl he prepared on the counter, leaving the one empty.

“I haven’t seen him anywhere today,” Miss Pauling said. “Is he even here?”

Pyro gave a muffled answer, causing the rest of the room to look at them and furrow their brows in confusion until Engineer said, “They said he’s probably out on one of his little jobs again.”

“Again?”

“He does that a lot,” Engineer explained. “Once a week, sometimes.”

She frowned, setting her spoon down and dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “I hope he’s not selling us out.”

“I may not trust that creep, but he wouldn’t do that,” said Scout.

Before anyone could add anything else, a quiet crackle of the intercom sounded. Shortly after, a woman said, “Attention: meet in the intelligence room in 0900 hours. Everyone must attend. Failure to comply will result in immediate termination of your contract.” The speaker then went silent.

“We’ve got to find Spy,” Miss Pauling said, getting up before finishing her soup.

“Sit back down and finish your meal; I’m sure the wanker’ll be back soon,” Sniper said.

She returned to her seat, although not without looking uncomfortable. The team finished their meals in silence then split ways for the night. Not a single one of them saw Spy before they retired to their rooms.

* * *

 RED Team Base, Intel Room - Badlands, New Mexico, USA. Tuesday, April 3rd, 1973.

* * *

Five minutes before the hour, the team took their seats around the table. Some crossed their arms, some put their elbows on the table, others reclined in their seats. Miss Pauling looked out of place as she sat stiffly with her clipboard on the table with a clean page ready to be written on. Scout, Soldier, Pyro, Demo, Heavy, Engie, Sniper, Medic, Zhanna, and Miss Pauling were all in their places and ready for the meeting to begin, yet the last chair closest to the small monitor at the end of the table remained empty.

“Spy is still not here?” Zhanna asked.

“He’s a deserter!” Soldier exclaimed. “I knew it!”

An electric zap crackled behind him. “I’m afraid not.”

Soldier spun around in his chair. “Spy! You’re not a traitor!”

“Hey, there you are!” Miss Pauling called to him. “Right on time.”

Spy straightened his tie and sat in the open chair beside her.

The monitor flickered on, showing The Administrator at her desk with her elbows propped up, her hands folded in front of her chin. “Gentlemen, ladies.”

Miss Pauling said, “Hello, Administrator! What do you need?” She clicked her pen open and eagerly held it over the blank sheet.

“We need to have a little talk.”

“About guns?” Soldier guessed.

Medic leaned forward in his seat, seemingly unable to contain his giddiness. “Ooh, do you have any spare bodies lying around?”

“No, and no,” she said dryly. “It appears as though several of you have breached your contracts. I’m very disappointed in almost all of you. The rest of you are satisfactory.”

“Wait, what?” Scout straightened up. “What’re you talkin’ about?”

“No one has made friends with the enemy team again,” Spy said, lighting a cigarette and spinning his chair to regard his teammates. “Right?”

There was a chorus of chatter, questions all answered with various negative responses.

“Relationships,” The Administrator answered for them. “Several of you are seeing someone. Don’t act like I don’t know; I see everything.”

“Oh.” Sniper crossed his arms. “Why’d you call all of us, then? I’m not seeing anyone.”

“I know. Sadly I cannot fire all of you, so I called all of you here to go over your contracts; to make some revisions to them.”

They were silent for a brief moment, then Spy said, “Go on.”

“From what I’ve observed, none of you have shown a decline in your work performance. There’s even been an increase, in some cases.” The Administrator shuffled through some of the manila folders laid out in front of her. Their names along with the respective title they were most commonly known by, save for Zhanna and Miss Pauling, were written on each. The files also had a passport-like photo of each person sloppily stapled to each. Zhanna’s folder was much thinner and in better condition than the others. She flipped it open, along with the file labeled ‘ _Jane Doe - Soldier_ ’. There was a copy of the same letter placed on the top of both files.

Picking up one of the letters, she said, “It says here that the two of you have been together since September 8th, 1972.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” said Soldier. Putting an arm around Zhanna, he added, “And she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen!”

“I know,” she replied stiffly. “The two of you have done… remarkable work together. Even losing an appendage hasn't stopped you. I dare say I'm impressed. Seeing your relationship is benefitting the team, I will excuse this. Should either of you fail me, I will not hesitate to terminate your contracts.”

Zhanna snorted a laugh. “I did not sign contract when I met Soldier. I only sign after.”

“I know,” The Administrator repeated. “But now you have, so you must comply with these terms.”

Soldier sat up as straight as one would in a military line. It was more or less what was happening, in a way. “Damn right we will. I'm a proud American and I know Zhanna is American in her soul.”

“Aw, Soldier!” She hugged him tightly. “You make Zhanna’s heart tick like bomb!”

“I love you, sweetie.”

The Administrator rolled her eyes. “Save your nauseating make-up affections for after the meeting.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” After wrestling an arm free, he saluted. “Failure is not an option!”

“Good.” She gave a wry smile, closing the files. “This goes for the rest of you as well.” Her piercing gaze settled on Heavy, then Medic, followed by Spy, and then Demoman, then back to the group. Heavy crossed his arms and sat back in his chair, regarding her with coolness despite the sting of panic he felt. Medic shifted under her gaze, briefly glancing at Heavy before looking ahead again, casually fixing his glasses that were already sitting properly on his nose. Spy simply took a long draw of his cigarette then watched it as the orange embers consumed the remaining paper, drawing closer to the yellow filter. Demoman simply looked lost. “I see _everything_ ,” she continued. “There is nothing that I don't know.”

“You’ll only see an increase in our work from here on out,” Miss Pauling said. “We’ll get the Australium before you know it.”

“So I thought. Now get going.” The screen switched to flickering static.

Miss Pauling tapped her pen against the page. “Okay, guys, we need to do something about that Australium.”

“I have an idea,” Spy said, extinguishing his cigarette. “Leave it to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Miss Pauling is back with the team and ready to kick ass! Also, I’m terribly sorry for the long wait. I’ve been super busy with school, but now that December is here, I’ve got about a month off. Hopefully I’ll have enough time during the holidays to get the next chapter ready and posted. I promise some more blood, guts, and explosions will be coming soon.
> 
> Finally, my mom and my boyfriend are busy people, yet they’ve been taking the time to help me edit this fanfic despite that. I owe a lot to them for all their help and would like to take a moment to thank them for their hard work. They’re awesome.


	5. Bomb Threats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Warning: this chapter contains stronger language than I usually use. I mostly avoid swearing unless I’m trying to express strong emotions, yet Team Fortress Classic Heavy is shown to swear a lot and generally be quite crude. In the name of art and accuracy to canon, my hand was forced. I’m sorry. Now, without further ado, let’s get to the action.

Gray Gravel Co. - New Mexico, USA. Sunday, April 1st, 1973.

* * *

With one tap of a button, a soft hiss of smoke enveloped him and within seconds, he had vanished into thin air. Over his suit he donned a disguise, ‘skillfully’ crafted by Soldier, who claimed it was foolproof and that the enemy would never be able to tell the difference between one of their robots and the costume. He doubted the claim when the supposed foolproof design was enough to confuse the fool who made it. While it may have only been a cardboard box costume, it was better than nothing. Spy couldn’t risk being caught; failure could easily result in death. Yet, valuable information always came at a high cost. Such factors were simply a part of the job, and he even welcomed the adrenaline spikes. It made his job much more interesting.

Once he was cloaked, he then tiptoed toward the four mercenaries, careful to avoid letting his leather loafers clack against the cement floor of the empty, metal warehouse room. One misplaced step would spell his end; a target such as his had enough experience with spies as it was.

“Gather ‘round, men,” their team’s Heavy barked. His arms were crossed and his brow was already furrowed. He looked as though a blood vessel would pop if anyone so much as looked at him the wrong way. “We’ve got a problem, and I’m not about to let those fuckers beat us.”

Their Engineer, Sniper, and Scout did as he told them to. Spy noted the small group size, remembering his team’s responsibility for the decline. He fought the urge to laugh as he recalled finishing off their Demoman, strangling him with the shackles on his feet after Zhanna punched their enemy square in the nose through Miss Pauling. It may have not been ideal, but it worked. After a brief moment of recollection, he tuned into the conversation again.

The enemy Sniper saluted. “No sir!”

A sadistic grin danced across their Scout’s lips. “We’ll get them this time. I’ll kick their asses faster than you can say ‘move out’.”

“You better,” their Heavy replied.

Spy couldn’t help but think of his own team as he watched them, knowing that they served similar roles yet acted nothing like the team he belonged to. Their Heavy seemed about as friendly as a bear after being woken up from hibernation by being poked in the ass with a stick too many times, unlike his team’s Heavy. Their Scout, while also being as wound up as a toy car, didn’t have the same cocky swagger as the one he knew. The man was sure of himself but not in the same way. The crotchety old men were far past their prime in his opinion; by their age, he liked to think that he would have already retired and moved to Boston, only taking jobs when it suited him.

“What do you suggest?” their Sniper asked the group.

“This time, we go ourselves,” the enemy Scout suggested. “We’ll take ‘em all out.”

Their Heavy rolled his eyes. “And get mashed into a fucking meat pie? Like hell we’re doin’ that. They out number us eleven to four.”

“Well, what do you suggest we do, then?”

Their Engineer raised his hand. “If I may.”

Their Heavy nodded. “Continue.”

“We build more robots; make more of them, stronger and bigger than before.”

“That’s it?” their Heavy chided. “That’s all you’ve got?”

The enemy Engineer gave a breathy chuckle. “Hardly. We’ll send bombs, and lots of them. Big ‘ol bombs in each of them. One stray bullet, and,” he clapped his hands together, causing a loud echo to crash through the room. “Boom!” He laughed, sounding more like laboured wheezing than sadistic glee.

He gave a snort. “The bastards deserve it, especially their pathetic little nurse.”

Spy leaned in closer, daring to take a step forward. A ray of sunlight from one of the tiny windows near the ceiling shone down on him, causing him to smirk as he looked at the dusty floor and saw no shadow at his side. He then checked his watch, seeing that his cloak was going to fail soon. He ducked back behind the box and tiptoed to a further stack of crates.

“After he ran away like the little pussy he is, I can’t wait to cave his face in,” their Heavy continued. Spy mentally took note of the threat, telling himself to warn Medic when he returned. After getting to cover, he read the label on one of the boxes: _Caution: explosive_. Were these the bombs they were going to use, or did they have something else in mind? Spy skillfully swung his butterfly knife open, ready to pry open the crate. Just then, he heard the soft hiss of his cloak fading.

“What was that?” their Scout asked, peering about the room.

Spy gripped the handle. He knew he didn’t have long; not enough time to tamper with the munitions.

Their Sniper stared right in the direction of the crates Spy was hiding behind. “Sounds like an Invis Watch to me.”

Their Engineer twirled his pistol on his finger. “I think we’ve got company, boys.”

“What the hell are ya waitin’ for, then?” their Heavy barked. “Get him!”

Footfalls slammed against the floor, growing louder with every second. Spy swore under his breath, running as fast as he could.

“That’s a bloody Spy!” their Scout called out.

Spy still kept his knife in hand, not so much as looking behind him. He heard a bullet whiz over his head, then another fly by his left shoulder. He had no choice but to keep going and hope he’d make it back before they caught up to him. Thankfully, age hadn’t been the kindest to them because they were slower than he would have anticipated.

A shot pierced through the thin metal tubing of the pathetic costume piece wrapped around his arm, causing him to let out a grunt but continue on as if the shot had missed. Spy refused to let them take any pride in their minor victory. Much to his annoyance, he not only had blood on his suit but now there was a hole in it as well. He’d have to fix it when he went home and hoped no one would catch wind of it.

He practically leaped into the teleporter and was instantly transported back to his base.

* * *

Engineer’s Workshop - RED Team Base, Badlands, New Mexico, USA. Sunday, April 1st, 1973.

* * *

Engineer saw a blinding red flash engulf the room for a brief moment as the teleporter whirled and brought someone back through it. Once the light faded enough to let him see again, he saw Spy stepping off of the device, clutching his tin-clad arm.

“Spy! Where the hell were you?”

He threw off the cardboard box head and yanked the tubing off of his arms, exposing a wound on the arm he was holding onto. He left the shoeboxes on.

“Oh God, you’re losin’ a lot’a blood there. You should see the doc right away.”

“That’s not important right now,” he dismissed. “Destroy the damn teleporter!”

Engineer fumbled for his Destruction PDA and pressed the button then, behind Spy, the little red machine detonated, leaving behind a blackened spot and bits of twisted metal.

“ _Merci, mon ami_.” Spy said, dusting off the shoulder of his seemingly unsoiled suit.

“Now, what in tarnation is goin’ on? Where were you and what hurt you?”

“I was spying on the enemy in their base and they caught me. But, no matter, I overheard what I needed to know and I got away.”

Engineer pushed his goggles onto his forehead and rubbed his eyes, spreading the charcoal-coloured dirt on his face. “Ooh boy, that’s a doozy. Tell you what, I’ll call everyone to the common room. Wait right there and don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. I’ll make sure Medic brings his Medi Gun.” Heading to the door, Engineer chuckled. “Good thing he got more Medi Gun fluid when he did. Otherwise, you might of been in trouble there.”

Spy gave a quiet sound of agreeance but otherwise didn’t speak.

“Ah, relax, Spy. We destroyed the teleporter; there’s no way they’re going to follow us. Not right away, at least. We’ve got time to talk this out.” Engineer waved goodbye and began his round-up.

* * *

Soldier paced back and forth outside of the door to his room: a place he still wasn’t allowed to so much as set foot in. He knew knocking would be pointless since she would likely see who it was through the door’s peep hole and ignore him. Apparently making up in front of everyone wasn’t good enough. Somehow, the hall floor felt almost more uncomfortable because of that.

Stopping outside the door, he crouched and slid the copy of _Animal Farm_ he had been holding under the door, then waited. Much to his surprise, the door swung open. Zhanna looked down at him, now holding her book in her metal left hand. “Hmph. Was looking for this everywhere.” Soldier stood and offered a smile, yet she narrowed her eyes, huffed, and went to slam the door shut. She was interrupted when Soldier abruptly said, “Zhanna, wait!”

She stopped, but not without flicking one of her ponytails over her shoulder.

“Can I come in? Please? I just want to talk to you.”

Zhanna pensively rested her index finger on her chin as she weighed her options, narrowing her eyes at him as if deciding whether or not he was a spy. Finally, she said, “ _Da_ , come in.”

“Thanks.” She held the door for him and he sat on the bed right away. Smiling at her, Soldier said, “Have I ever told you that you look ravishing wearing that necklace of ears?”

She brushed the ones near the front of her necklace, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Thank you.” Putting the book down on the bedside table, she settled down beside him and asked, “So, where was my book?”

“I, uh, borrowed it. You left it in the intel room.”

“Oh.”

“I read it; I read a book! I mean, Heavy did. He read it to me; I couldn’t figure out what the first page said.” Soldier chuckled. “You should’ve seen the look on his face. He was so confused!”

Zhanna blinked. “You… had Misha read it to you?”

“Yes, sir! Those pigs were as un-American as Canadian back bacon! And to think those animals were British, too; everyone knows democracy is American, and it’s what makes this country as perfect as it is!”

She chuckled at his reasoning, yet her joy was short-lived. “I’m surprised. Brother does not say much to me or anyone. He hardly talks to me now.” She let her eyes trail off to the floor. “He is quiet, but never like this.”

“He’s probably mad at me for the same reason you were.” Soldier took her non-metallic hand and said in a much softer tone of voice than usual, “Zhanna, I’m sorry for being a ‘stupid man’. I never should have guessed you were a traitor. Or your family. I’ll apologize to Heavy and I’m sure that’ll whip that soldier back into shape!”

“You will not say stupid things about team too, yes?”

“You have my word, sweetheart.” He brought Zhanna’s hand to his face and kissed it.

Her expression brightened like the sky after storm clouds part. She practically tackled Soldier with a hug, sending them both down onto the bed in each other’s arms while kissing him passionately.

Coming up for air, Soldier said, “God, I love you.”

There was a knock on the door. After both of them silently willed the other to answer it, Soldier finally said, “I’ll get it.” He kissed Zhanna on the forehead then did as he said.

Engineer stood on the other side, fiddling with the edge of his yellow, rubber glove. “Oh, there you are. I wasn’t expectin’ you’d be in here.”

“We made up and I got my bed back!”

“That’s great, Soldier.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, there’s been a bit of a problem. Emergency meeting in the common room, so now would be a good time to make your way on down there.”

Soldier saluted stiffly. “Sir, yes, sir!” Ducking back into the room, he said, “Zhanna we’re moving out! That’s an order!”

“ _Da_.” Without delay, she joined him by the door, seeming as though she were already mentally preparing herself for battle.

“Woah, there!” Engineer held up his hands placatingly. “This ain’t no fight, fellas. It’s just a meeting in the common room.”

“Hmm. Why did you not say so?”

“I, uh… did,” Engineer said. Had he been wearing his dark-lensed goggles, he would have rolled his eyes. “Anyway, we’d better hustle on down there now.”

“Onward, men!” Soldier barked, jogging ahead with Zhanna following closely behind him.

Once Engineer caught up to them, the rest of the team was already seated on the couches and chairs, murmuring amongst themselves about possible reasons for the meeting. After he took his place, Spy cleared his throat to get the room’s attention.

“Gentlemen,” he began. “It appears we have a problem.”

“Well yes, you seem to be losing a lot of blood,” Medic said. “I could fix that with the Medi Gun; problem solved.”

Spy pinched the bridge of his nose using his right hand. “I noticed, and you can deal with it after. But that’s not the reason I’ve gathered you here.” After pausing to ensure no one else would interrupt him, he continued. “After yesterday’s meeting, I took the liberty to investigate; it’s worse than I thought.”

“What did you find?” Miss Pauling asked, clicking her pen open.

“They have bombs; lots of them. They’re sending them to our base.”

“Crikey,” Sniper mumbled.

“How long do we have?” Engineer asked.

“I don’t know, but I don’t imagine it would be very long.”

Frantically scribbling, Miss Pauling said, “So, they could invade at any time and we wouldn’t be ready.”

“Now, don’t you be worryin’,” Engineer said, reclining in his seat. “I’ll think of something. We’ll be prepared.”

“I’ll help,” Medic offered. “With our combined efforts, we’ll be unstoppable.”

“Let’s say we have… until tomorrow before they attack,” Spy said. “Do what you can in that time. As for the rest of you, get ready for battle. This won’t be easy.”


	6. The Art Of Love And War

RED Team Base - Badlands, New Mexico, USA. Sunday, April 1st, 1973.

* * *

 A few hours after the emergency meeting, several unmarked boxes arrived at the base. Miss Pauling pried the lid off of one, peeked inside, and immediately went to Medic’s Lab.

She poked her head through the door. “Hey, Medic? Some packages arrived for you.”

His trademark evil grin danced across his lips. “Ooh, the cadavers are here? _Wunderbar_!”

“Yep. They’re over in the shipping bay. You… might want to get them before the heat makes them smell.”

“ _Danke_ , Miss Pauling!” Like a child in a toy store, he sped out of the room. She shook her head and went to find Scout to train with.

Meanwhile, Medic zipped around the base, checking everywhere he could think of until he finally found Heavy in his room, lounging on his bed reading a book.

“They’re here!”

Heavy sat up, his eyebrow raised. “What is?”

“The cadavers and the Medi Gun fluid!” He laughed. “They will be so much fun to experiment on. More blank canvases for my work! Care to help me?”

He frowned. “I stay here. You have… fun,” he mumbled, hiding behind his book once more.

“I will!” As suddenly as he came, he was gone. He dragged the boxes to his lab, wishing Heavy would have offered to help carry them. While he was capable of moving them on his own, Medic knew it would have been much quicker and easier with the help. Normally, Heavy was quick to offer his assistance for a variety of things, yet he seemed to be the opposite without any explanation. Maybe he wasn’t feeling well. He told himself he’d give him a check-up once he and Engineer were finished with their preparations. The last thing they needed was someone to be sick before a big fight.

* * *

 RED Team Base - Badlands, New Mexico, USA. Wednesday, April 4th, 1973.

* * *

Three days had passed since Spy warned the team of the impending attack, yet there were still no signs of danger. Engineer and Medic were thankful for the extra time, as they locked themselves in their labs and worked day and night to come up with a solution. For the past two nights, both men were found asleep at their desks with several empty coffee mugs beside them and surrounded by nearly illegible plans and notes. No one dared to wake them, knowing they needed every wink of sleep they could get for how hard they were working.

It was only that morning, three days after the threat was announced, that Medic threw open the doors to the common room, laughing maniacally. His Medi Gun was strapped to his back and he was juggling the gun itself in his arms with a crumpled pile of papers. “I’ve done it!” Medic had dark bags under his eyes and his hand was shaking slightly, likely from excessive caffeine intake.

“What have you done?” Sniper asked.

“I’ve upgraded the shield! It now works twice as long and I can use it on other people now. We even equipped Engineer’s sentries with them!”

Engineer walked in next, carrying one of the respawn modules they used during the original robot attacks. “Turns out it don’t need the Medi Gun to run,” Engineer explained. “With a bit of Medi Gun juice, it runs like a dream.” Patting the device in his arms, he added, “We also tinkered with these lil’ contraptions.” He held it up to show them; it looked no different from before.” They should last a little longer now before respawn takes over. I figured out how to get the damn thing running, so there’s no need to worry about dyin’ this time.”

“Do you have anything else prepared?” Spy asked.

“Hate to say it, but we’ve got nothing,” Engineer said. “Best thing would be to keep them away from the base if we can help it.”

“Sniper, you’re on lookout,” Miss Pauling said. “If you see anything, pull the briefcase alarm.”

“I’m on it,” Sniper responded, giving a curt nod before leaving.

“And you guys should get some sleep; you’ve both worked hard.”

Engineer yawned, stretching his arms behind him. “You don’t need to be askin’ me twice.”

“ _Ja_ , a nap would be nice.”

Both men hauled their gear back out of the room, parting ways to drop them off in their respective workspaces before collapsing onto their beds.

* * *

That afternoon, the buzzer sounded through the base and the red lights flashed in the halls and work areas. Knowing what it meant, no one hesitated to grab their weapons and ammunition and rush out of the base.

Outside, silhouettes of an army organized in perfect lines advanced toward them. Taller, stronger robots could be seen at the back, rattling as their motors hummed away and carried them closer. Every single one of them had a bomb strapped to their back.

“Aw, geez! They’ve got a freakin’ army!” Scout complained, lightly bouncing from foot to foot. It seemed as though he’d burst if he stopped moving for even a second.

“Whatever y’all do, keep them away from the base,” Engineer instructed them as he began to set up his sentry gun. “Respawn’s activated.”

Soldier stuffed a rocket into the launcher, keeping his shovel at fingertip access. “Ready to fight, maggots?” At some point when they weren’t paying attention, he had stripped himself and was now proudly standing in his naked glory. Heavy felt like he was going to be sick when he saw that Zhanna had immediately followed suit. Then she slathered the two of them in honey.

Medic’s Medi Gun crackled with red static as the little orange ‘Übercharge Ready’ light flickered on, signalling that it was ready to be activated at any moment. “Ready!”

“Give ‘em hell, boys!” Soldier launched himself into the air, flinging himself right to the front. Zhanna grabbed a grenade from her bandolier and charged forward to back him up.

Running after them, Medic yelled, “ _Schweinhund_! I haven’t overhealed you yet!”

“I’m coming, Doctor!” Heavy said, jogging to keep up yet he quickly fell behind. Undeterred by this, he diligently followed his doctor and tried his hardest to move as fast as his legs would carry him.

Scout nodded to Miss Pauling, cocked his scattergun, and flew past Heavy. Miss Pauling ran only a bit slower than him. Already it seemed as though they made a great pair in battle, much like Soldier with Zhanna or Heavy with Medic.

The rest of the team followed after them, save for Sniper, who remained at his vantage point. Engineer stuck closer to the back to find a good spot for his sentry gun.

At the front, Soldier launched rocket after rocket into the masses of robots, sending bits of warped metal in all directions from the blast and knocking others over from the force of the explosion. Zhanna would take over while he reloaded by hurling a grenade or two into the masses. They didn’t have even a moment to recover from the last explosive round before another fell nearby. If one came too close, Zhanna would punch it with her mechanical hand, sending the head flying several meters.

“Good work, honey!” A robot got close to Soldier, so he smacked it with his shovel.

“Today is good day to fight robots!”

He watched as Zhanna continued to mow down the enemies, completely naked, free, and deadly. She snapped a Scout bot’s neck and tore the wires connecting it to the body; she was gorgeous.

Elsewhere on the battlefield, Medic’s shield was running low, yet the onslaught continued on and showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. Heavy ground his teeth and tried to focus his fire toward the most threatening of the attackers. Just then, Soldier said, “Come ‘ere, Sweetheart.” Medic looked over and the man nodded, affirming that he was referring to him.

Heavy frowned. “Do not call Doctor ‘Sweetheart.’”

Medic gave him a sympathetic smile, holding his gaze for a moment as if to let him know that the pet name made him feel just as uncomfortable as Heavy. “I’m sorry, but I need to heal him. I’ll be right back.”

“ _Da_. Will hold them back until you return.”

Once he was in range, he focused his Medi Gun onto Soldier.

“Thanks!” he replied. A giant Soldier bot trudged toward them, so Medic activated his Übercharge, allowing him to push forward to deal some damage before falling back to a safer distance.

Within the last two seconds of his charge, he heard Heavy call for him. He had another Soldier bot and a Heavy bot shooting at him; he was falling back as the robots continued to advance. Medic screamed his name and sprinted to him, holding the lever forward in the vain hope that the beam would somehow make it to him in time. Before he could reach his patient, a rocket hit Heavy in the chest, blowing him to pieces. Medic’s jaw dropped.

He could have sworn he felt his heart explode with the rocket blast. He couldn’t believe his eyes. His horror was interrupted when Pyro called for help; they were in need of immediate assistance. Knowing he needed to prioritize the living over the dead, he dragged himself away from the red hologram and moved on to his next patient.

Once Pyro was healed, he glanced over his shoulder and saw that the module was gone. Respawn had taken care of Heavy. At least, that’s what he hoped. Medic ground his teeth, his brow furrowed. “You _bastards_.” He charged at them, saw swinging wildly as he tore through robot after robot. “He was perfect! None of you deserve to live after what you’ve done!” he screamed, voice cracking, his cries echoing across the battlefield. Coming to the Heavy bot that had hurt Heavy, he swung the bonesaw in a clean line, slashing off the robot’s head in one swipe. He was surprised it went down as quickly as it did. “You’ll never be as great as the real Heavy.  _I_ made him better than they could ever make you!” He then went after the Soldier bot that launched the fatal rocket.

“You,” he snarled. “This next procedure will be _excruciating_.” Medic tackled the Soldier bot to the ground. Raising the bonesaw above his head, he added, “You’ll feel a little pinch then nothing at all.” He jammed the blade into the robot’s chest, over and over again, laughing like a madman. The blade drove in with more force with each swing, his laughs mixing with sobs with each hit. Before he knew it, tears were pouring down his face. “ _Sterben, blechdose!_ ” Before he could strike again, he felt a hand catch his wrist mid-air.

Medic looked up, seeing Heavy staring down at him, eyebrows raised. “Doctor?”

“Heavy?” He got to his feet, beaming. “ _Dummkopf_ , don’t scare me like that!” Decapitating a Scout bot, he added, “I thought I lost you.”

“Is bad time to talk,” Heavy said, revving up Sasha.

“Ah, yes, sorry.” Then, Demoman called for help so Medic began healing him. Once he was taken care of, he directed the beam back to Heavy. The pair returned to the front lines and within seconds of arriving, he said, “Ready to charge!”

As the robots prepared to fire, Heavy called out, “Now, Doctor!”

He nodded and released the Übercharge.

Meanwhile, Scout zipped around the Scout bots, whittling down their health with his scattergun and then finishing them off with his bat when he was in swinging range. Miss Pauling stayed close and pegged off others, never missing a shot.

“Hey, nice shot,” Scout said as he hit the head off of a Scout bot.

“Thanks.” She landed a shot on another with a direct hit to the circuit board and added, “You’re not too bad yourself.”

“Yeah, I know. I _never_ miss!” To prove his point, Scout took aim once more at a slow moving Heavy bot. He dashed up behind it and fired at point-blank range, only to miss entirely. “I mean, uh, not normally.” Adding insult to injury, Miss Pauling shot from where she stood, hitting it between the eyes as if she could have done it in her sleep.

She laughed and shook her head. “You know, you don’t have to keep showing off to impress me.”

“What makes you think I’m showin’ off?” Scout took out a Medic bot and added, “I’m not showin’ off. You just can’t get over how awesome I am at kicking robot ass!”

“Uh… yeah.”

“Miss Pauling! Behind you!”

She whirled around, seeing the smoke dissipate as a Spy bot uncloaked, arm raised with a knife in hand. In a swift motion, she swung her foot up in a roundhouse kick and sent the attacker into the dusty ground.

Scout whipped out his pistol, planting a bullet between the lights it had for eyes. “Backstabbin’ trashcan,” he muttered to himself.

Miss Pauling tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and smiled at him. “Thanks, Scout.”

“No problem. Anything for you.” He cocked his scattergun and said, “Let’s go. We ain’t done yet.”

The pair charged into range, destroying as many robots as possible while giving extra attention to each other’s safety. If a robot tried to so much as scratch Miss Pauling, there would be a dent in its head from Scout’s bat seconds afterward. She returned the favour by shooting down anything that tried to sneak up behind him.

He couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest man on the battlefield with such a hot badass watching out for him.

* * *

The battle lasted several hours; the sky was a beautiful mix of warm yellows, oranges, and reds by the time they finished off the last robot. Surprisingly, those colours weren’t caused by Pyro’s fires as the scraps of the robots burned. Innumerable heaps of blue-painted metal littered the dry desert ground as far as the eye could see.

“Well, someone’s going to have a nice time cleaning that up,” Sniper said.

“Sure as hell won’t be me,” Scout replied.

“You’ve made this old war-dog proud, men,” Soldier said, standing stiff as a board. “You’re all being promoted!”

Zhanna giggled with a hand hiding her lips. She would have looked cute had she not been naked and caked with blood, engine oil, dirt, and honey.

Demoman raised his bottle into the air. “Do you know what this calls for? Gettin’ bloody drunk! Drinks for all of you!”

There was a murmur of agreement before everyone headed inside the base to get cleaned up. Not long after, they regrouped in the common room. Demoman briefly disappeared only to return with several kinds of drinks that he carefully selected for each person. He chose stronger drinks for some and lighter ones for others depending on their taste. For Heavy, he went out of his way to make the man’s favourite drink: peach bellini. Demoman knew he wasn’t fond of the other options. He wanted everyone to partake in the post-battle festivities but he couldn’t help but be amused by Heavy’s taste in alcohol. He just didn’t seem like the type to enjoy such a light beverage; Demoman would have pegged him as a fan of hard alcohol.

While he was busy fetching the first round of drinks, Scout played a Tom Jones album on the record player as loud as he could make the system go. Surprisingly, no one asked him to turn it down. In fact, none of them seemed to care about anything that may have otherwise gotten on their nerves. Even Spy and Sniper were getting along for once.

When the song inevitably came on, Scout serenaded Miss Pauling with “What’s New Pussycat?”. He held her hand for the entire song and made every effort to emphasize his point. She tried to give off the air of being annoyed, but it was clear from the look in her pussycat eyes that she actually loved every moment of it. Scout may have not had the best singing voice, but he otherwise sang the song as perfectly as he possibly could.

About two hours after the festivities began, Medic said, “All that work has made me tired. I should go to bed now.”

“Aw, lighten up, Doc,” Engineer replied. “The party’s barely started.”

“You only had one beer,” Demoman complained. “At least stay and have another before you hit the sac.”

He yawned yet, to Demoman, it almost seemed a bit forced. “I don’t think I can stay awake much longer. I’ve stayed up too late for too many nights in a row.”

“Doctor, wait.” Heavy frowned. “I do not feel good.”

“In what way?”

“Sick. Have bad stomach ache.”

Medic stroked his chin as he brainstormed ideas. “Ah, yes. I have just the thing. Come with me.”

“Wait,” Soldier barked. “You forgot your medal.” He reached into his shirt pocket, pulling out a safety pin with a beer cap skewered onto it. “You fought well, Private.” Without asking, he pinned the ‘medal’ onto Medic’s jacket, evoking a wince from the doctor as he pricked him with the pin by accident before snapping it into place. Medic rolled his eyes as he did the same for Heavy, then moving on to Engineer and Demoman. Soldier chased down the rest of the team afterward to ensure they all received their reward for all of the hard work.

Wordlessly, Heavy and Medic departed from the room, heading in the direction of Medic’s lab. Demoman just hoped it wasn’t the peach bellini that made him feel unwell. Their absence was forgotten shortly after as the rest of the mercs continued to drink and dance the night away.

* * *

 As the party began to die down, Spy excused himself for a bathroom break. Instead of going toward the bathrooms, he returned to his room to grab his wallet and keys. He checked the time, thankful to see that there would still be plenty of time to drive to the airport.

Spy softly shut the door behind him before cloaking and creeping down the hall. On his way out of the base, he passed by Medic’s lab. He stopped when he faintly heard music coming from within. Remaining invisible, he peered through the small, round window of the door.

Inside, Heavy and Medic were together, only a few inches apart. Heavy’s hands were caressing Medic’s hips, guiding him as they swayed to the melody. Medic rested his hands on the man’s shoulders, smiling up at him. They took small steps together, moving in a small circle, completely enamoured with each other.

Medic’s apparent exhaustion had all but disappeared and Heavy’s tummy ache seemed non-existent. Spy smiled to himself, finally understanding why they slipped off so suddenly.

Somewhat muted through the door, he heard Medic curse loudly. He jumped back from Heavy, hopping on one foot.

“Watch where you step!” Gingerly, he put weight on both feet again, evoking a wince.

“Sorry. Was distracted by good-looking man.”

“No you weren’t!” Medic huffed, doing his best to appear angry.

“Is the truth, I promise!”

Medic glared at Heavy, who simply smiled. Before long, both of them were laughing.

“Shall we try this again?” Medic asked, offering Heavy his hand.

He took his hand without hesitation. “ _Da_.” They resumed dancing, but this time, Heavy pulled Medic close. It was more of a swaying hug rather than a dance, but they looked happy.

Spy’s cloak was rapidly dwindling and he knew the flight would leave with or without him on it. The couple would have probably enjoyed the space anyway, so he opted to slip away. He kept his hands around his keys, stopping them from clinking together in his pocket. He opened the car door slowly, hoping it would somehow make it quieter. Shutting it, unfortunately, caused an echo to ring out through the empty garage. Spy turned the key and the engine roared to life.

“Did you hear something?”

Heavy raised an eyebrow. “Hear what?”

“That sounded like a car engine...” They stood still for a moment, waiting to hear if there would be another noise to confirm it, yet all they could hear was the music.

“I swore I heard something.” They waited a little longer. “ _Ja_ , that’s an engine! Don’t you hear that?”

“Must be car. Who would be driving now?”

“I have no idea.” Medic shrugged. “I wouldn’t worry about it.” Smiling up at his darling, he said, “Now, where were we?”

They went back to dancing, now stepping it up to more of a structured ballroom-style dance. Holding Medic’s hand, he lead his doctor around the room, taking extra care to not step on his foot again as they gently swayed to the beat.

Heavy spun Medic around and dipped him down with a smile. When he was on his feet again, Medic said, “You’re better at this than I thought.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“I’m sorry I let you die today,” Medic said, his face falling.

Heavy cupped his cheek, brushing his thumb over his cheekbone. “I am not mad, but I was wrong about you.”

Leaning into his touch, he asked, “In what way?”

“I think no man could outsmart bullet.” With a smile, he added, “Was wrong. You are only one who can.”

He laughed. “Well, not exactly. Technically, I outsmarted death.”

“Does not matter. Doctor made me bulletproof. We outsmart bullet together.”

Medic gazed into his blue eyes, grinning like an idiot. It seemed like he made a split-second decision when he smashed his mouth against Heavy’s, holding him by his shirt collar until he broke the kiss.

Heavy’s cheeks burned. He just hoped the Übercharge module affixed to his heart wouldn’t be damaged as it hammered in his chest.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t resist.”

“No. Do not apologize.” Pulling him into a suffocating hug, he kissed Medic more tenderly this time. The man melted in his embrace, feeling as if the world around them stood still as they shared the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Special thanks to my friend, PoffinPuff, for suggesting the cute and fluffy Meet The Heavy reference in the closing scene! You’re awesome, dude!
> 
> On another note, I’m dedicating myself to bi-weekly updates going forward. The only exception to this will be if my school schedule gets ridiculous but, other than that, you can expect regular updates! Mark your calendars!


	7. Missing Persons Report

RED Team Base - Badlands, New Mexico, USA. Wednesday, April 4th, 1973.

* * *

Medic felt a hand clamp over his mouth, jerking him awake. In the darkness and without his glasses on, he couldn’t see who it was. It wasn’t until his attacker spoke that he knew who it was.

“Scream, and I’ll put a bullet in your ugly face. Respawn’s off; Fred took care of that.”

He rolled over, finding the other Heavy staring him down, a sadistic grin dancing across his lips. A pistol was pressed right between his eyes.

“What’s the matter, Frankenstein? Missed me?”

The man was the last person he wanted to wake up to see: Heavy, from Team Classic. Medic resisted making a face at the mention of his insulting nickname. He wanted Misha, _his_ Heavy, but he knew he had no way of getting to him; he wasn’t about to blindly guess if the respawn threat was a bluff. Of all nights, why did this have to be the night when they decided to sleep in their own beds? He could’ve had Heavy there to protect him but instead, he was helpless, especially without his weapons. He mentally kicked himself for being stupid enough to not have foreseen their retaliation to prepare himself for it.

Classic Heavy laughed darkly. “The look in your eyes. Pathetic. You’ve grown soft, nurse.”

It pained him to know that he was right; trust had a way of making strong men weak. Medic tightened his hand into a fist and punched the man in the stomach as hard as he could. While being held down on his bed by the mouth, it was the best he could do. Classic Heavy didn’t even flinch.

“Feisty, aren’t you?” He snorted. “Feisty for the little girl you are, anyway.” He dragged the man to his feet and grabbed his glasses off of the nightstand. Classic Heavy blindfolded him, gagged him, and tied his arms behind his back before forcing him to walk down the hall, roughly leading him by the arm. He felt Archimedes land on his shoulder, causing Classic Heavy to swat him away. He still held Medic at gunpoint with the barrel pressed against his temple.

Before long, he was shoved into the back of a van and the doors were slammed shut. Medic could tell there was someone beside him yet, in his state, he couldn’t know who.

* * *

RED Team Base - Badlands, New Mexico, USA. Wednesday, April 5th, 1973.

* * *

Breakfast was ready, yet only half the team was seated at the table. A huge mound of bacon piled on a plate in the middle of the table seemed as though it was too much; Engineer, Soldier, Miss Pauling, Medic, and Spy were nowhere to be seen.

Everyone seated at the table took their share of the food and nibbled at it. They mostly pushed it around on their plates and no one dared to speak.

Spy burst into the room, panting and looking surprisingly disheveled compared to his usually well-put together look. He seemed exhausted, yet also too alert to consider resting.

“Woah, mate, what’s gotten into you?” Sniper asked, getting to his feet.

He was ignored.

“Spy,” he said, going over and giving the man’s shoulder a shake. “What happened to you?”

Trying to catch his breath, Spy said, “They took her.” He coughed, likely from the running and his years of cigarette use.

“Who?”

“Gray Gravel.”

“Took who?”

“My wife.”

Sniper’s eyes widened. “Bloody hell.”

Scout snorted, reclining in his seat with his arms crossed. With a smug grin, he asked, “Since when did ya have a wife, frog-face? Who the hell would marry you?”

He narrowed his eyes at him. “It doesn’t matter. I’d suggest you start worrying if you want to see Miss Pauling again.”

“Wait, what?”

“While you were hugging that stuffed squirrel in your sleep, I was searching the base.” Spy tapped his fingers together, keeping his hands low where they were less likely to be seen.

Scout sat up and pointed an accusatory finger at Spy. “Hey, don’t you be bringin’ Chucklenuts into this. He didn’t do nothin’.” Sniper and Heavy smirked at each other and suppressed their laughter.

Spy exhaled sharply, his mouth a thin line. “Do you want to see your girlfriend again?”

“Uh, yeah. Obviously.”

“Then I’d suggest you listen to me.” Spy dusted off his already-clean-looking suit. “They’ve taken every one of us who isn’t sitting at this table.”

Heavy’s eyebrows raised with concern. “They took Doctor?”

“I’m afraid so.” Spy began errantly pacing around the room, becomingly increasingly impatient. “We need to come up with a plan, and quickly; my wife has no experience with the art of war.”

Heavy held his forehead in his hand, elbow propped on the table. He picked up three strips of bacon and teared off a bite, chewing lethargically.

“Soldier is strong. He will be fine,” Zhanna said. “Miss Pauling is dead. She will be missed.”

Scout, clearly not having heard her, said, “Aw crap, we’ve gotta save her! How fast can we get there?” He tapped his foot and repeatedly folded and unfolded his hands.

“Are you daft, lad?” Demoman asked. “If we just charge in there guns blazing, they’ll blow us to bits!” To drive his point home, he mimicked the blast of an explosion with his hands.

Pyro said something while wildly waving their hands about, yet no one understood a word of it without Engineer there to translate for them.

Sniper shook his head. “Sorry, Pyro. We can’t understand you.”

They said something else, sounding disappointed and hanging their head.

Spy took some food and everyone resumed their quiet munching. As Heavy left his food sit for the most part, Demoman said, “Aye, don’t you be worried, lad. Your boyfriend’ll be fine.”

Heavy jerked his head up. “What?”

“Ah, don’t be actin’ like we don’t know.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty freakin’ obvious,” Scout added.

He balled his hands into fists. “I do not know what you say. Is not true.”

“I know you miss him.” Demoman offered a sympathetic smile. “We’ll get him back.”

“Medic is good friend. That is all.”

Demoman laughed. “Oh yeah. He’s a _very_ good friend of yours, big guy.”

Scout chuckled and high-fived him.

Heavy slowly stood. “Is not funny.” He stomped over to Demoman’s side of the table, nostrils flared. “There is nothing between Doctor and I. _Nothing_.”

“Nothing? Even after the way he screamed at the sky when you died yesterday?”

He swung his fist, connecting with Demoman’s nose. The man cried out and covered it with his hands, swearing like a black, Scottish, cyclops sailor.

“Shit Heavy, what the hell?” Scout yelled, rushing over to check on his injured teammate.

“I was just trying to help!” he complained. “I wasn’t making fun of you!”

Heavy stared him down, arms crossed. He then went to the fridge and took out one of his sandwiches. “This will help,” he said, tossing it at him with such accuracy that it smacked him in the face before proceeding to stomp out of the room and slam the door behind him.

They met each other’s eyes, yet no one said a word, almost afraid that speaking would make Heavy return. Demoman ate the sandwich, feeling its magic-like qualities gradually heal his nose.

After a few minutes, Sniper asked, “Are you okay?”

He waved it off and continued to eat.

“I’ll check on brother,” Zhanna said, stuffing the last piece of bacon in her mouth on her way out.

She knew that Heavy prefered to be alone when he was upset. He’d been doing it as long as she could remember, so she could be fairly certain that she would find him in his room. Zhanna tried the door, only to find it locked. She was about to break the lock with her metal hand before it was yanked open to reveal who she was looking for, fuming.

Zhanna raised her hands in surrender, offering a placating smile.

“Go.”

Her expression hardened into a stern frown. “No. We talk about this right now.”

With how stubborn she could be, Heavy didn’t bother to argue with her and simply let her in with a sigh.

She sat on the end of his bed and, in Russian, asked, “Is it true?”

Heavy refused to meet her eyes, staying near the door. “Yes. It’s all true,” he answered in the same language, cheeks growing red.

“Why him?” Zhanna asked, continuing to speak to him in their native language. “What do you see in that man?”

“Medic is a good man. He can be a bit eccentric, but it’s part of why he’s just so… perfect.” A soft smile settling across his lips, he said,“I love the excited look he gets in his eyes when he talks about his work, the way he rambles about his ideas, the way he talks to his birds like they’re people...” He covered his face with his hand. “Why am I telling you all of this? You shouldn’t even know about it. No one was supposed to find out.”

Zhanna smiled slightly. “It’s okay. I’m glad to know that you’re happy. How long have you been together?”

Pausing to think for a moment, he soon answered, “A few weeks.”

“Hmm, not bad. And he treats you well?”

“Mostly.”

A frown tugged at her lips. “Mostly?”

“Yes.”

“What do you mean?”

If he had the space to do so, it seemed as though he would have wanted to move farther away from her. “It’s nothing. Everyone has problems in their relationships.”

“Misha, what did he do?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“No, tell me,” Zhanna said, her tone making it clear that refusing to answer would be anything but acceptable. “What has he done?”

Admitting defeat with a weary sigh, Heavy said, “Something bad happened before we were together.”

“Tell me about it.”

“No. I’ve said all that you need to know.”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

He remained silent for several moments, arms crossed. When he couldn’t uphold his cold indifference under her glare any longer, he said, “Fine, I’ll tell you, but you can’t tell anyone what I’m about to say.”

“I won’t.”

Reluctantly, he sat on the opposite end of the bed, causing the springs to creak as the mattress sank under his weight. “Remember the night that Medic and I didn’t come to dinner?”

“Yes. I didn’t see you all night.”

“After the battle, Doctor asked me to let him experiment on me. I hesitated but I agreed to it.” Seeing her shock, he explained, “We all do stupid things when we’re in love. As I was saying, he usually keeps me awake, but this time he put me to sleep.” Heavy folded his hands, resting his chin on them with his elbows propped on his knees. “When I woke up, I felt very dizzy and tired. I didn’t even feel this bad when he broke my rib.”

Before he could continue his story, Zhanna interrupted with, “He broke your rib?”

“It was a few years ago, back when we were first hired. I was helping him with my heart surgery and he asked me to hold my ribcage open for him. I snapped my rib.”

“And you trust this man?”

“With my life. My rib is growing back like he said it would. Anyway, I never feel this bad after he’s worked on me. I found out a little later that it was because he killed me. Medic said it was an accident, but it didn’t help me feel better. I’m just a bit worried he might make another mistake; he might let himself get carried away again.”

She snorted. “And you’re dating this man after all that?”

“He’s wonderful. He’s a bit strange, but it makes him all the more special.” Heavy smiled to himself. “I’ve never met anyone else like him. It can be scary sometimes, but seeing the way he smiles while he works is worth it. He brought me back; I trust him, even if it’s hard to.”

“You know what he’s done, don’t you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Medic was working for the enemy,” Zhanna said.

“I know.”

“That’s not all. He killed Sniper.”

“What?” He raised an eyebrow. “When?”

“When Gray Gravel captured us. They shot him, and Medic did nothing to stop them.”

Heavy frowned. “He never told me about this.”

“I’m not surprised,” she said, voice flat. “But, I see that he’s back on our side and I can tell he cares about you. Just… be careful.”

“I will.”

An uncomfortable silence fell between them. His mind raced with questions he wanted to ask Medic mixed with concern for his safety. Heavy had hardly heard anything from Medic about his time with their enemy, only saying that he was glad to be back with his original team; he couldn’t know how Team Classic would treat him.

“So,” Heavy began. “You made up with Soldier?”

“Yes. He apologized for saying those stupid things about our family. He was going to apologize to you in person, but he didn’t get a chance to.”

“Mmm.”

Zhanna placed a hand on his broad shoulder. “Is this why you haven’t been talking to me as much?”

“That, Soldier is still an idiot, and because I was afraid of you finding out about me and Doctor.”

“Brother, it’s okay. I’m happy for you. And yes, Soldier is an idiot, but he’s my idiot.”

He finally looked her in the eye. “You’re not mad?”

“No. How could I be mad about seeing you happy?”

Heavy smiled, feeling genuine relief flood over him. “Good.”

Wrapping her arms around him, Zhanna gave her brother a tight squeeze, one that he readily reciprocated.

She let go and chuckled. “I guess this makes them brother-in-laws.”

“Medic and Soldier as brother-in-laws?” He gave a hearty laugh. “That’s true, but I can hardly see them acting like family.”

“They’ll have to figure out how to get along eventually.”

“Maybe one day.” Heavy sighed, clutching his forehead in his hands. “I miss him already.”

Zhanna patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll get them back..”

“I’ll be okay.” With a sheepish smile, he added, “I guess it was stupid to think no one would ever know about us.”

“I understand why you were afraid, but we wouldn’t make fun of you.”

“Thank you.”

Zhanna got up and walked toward the door, turning to face Heavy before leaving. “Take some time to calm down, then join us and we’ll make plans.”

“I will, but tell Scout to run. Tell him Heavy is very mad that he broke his promise to Doctor.” Zhanna nodded and excused herself, leaving him to read his book. Quickly letting himself get lost in the fictional world, he forgot his nagging fears for the moment as he focused on the ones the characters faced.


	8. Hostage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I goofed up a while ago because I didn’t realize TFC Soldier was still alive until he made that final appearance in comic #6. That being said, please note that he’s already dead in this story. Just a heads up, there’s some nice cringe-worthy gore and a bit of homophobia in this chapter because the plot called for it. As usual, if this bothers you, don’t read it. Finally, I’m sorry for not updating for a while. Life really got out of control, but things should hopefully be better now.

Interrogation Room - Gray Gravel Co. Base, Badlands, New Mexico, USA. Thursday, April 5th, 1973.

* * *

“I’m sorry about the rude awakening; just following orders. Your friends are fine, though; they’re just in other rooms,” Fred explained, taking a seat across from Engineer at the table.

Engineer reclined in the collapsible plastic chair, arms folded across his chest. “I know.”

“Alright, now that that’s cleared up, why don’t we chat for a bit? Tell me about that friend of yours in the asbestos suit,” Fred said. “What’s he like?” Despite the lack of threatening tone of his voice, the single, bare lightbulb hanging over them cast an unsettling shadow across his face.

“You mean Pyro? Well, Pyro’s not a man. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, sorry. What’s she like?”

“Right, uh, none of us really know what Pyro is. Hell, sometimes I wonder if they’re even human. No one knows. They’re… neither, I guess.” Engineer shrugged. “I don’t really know what to call it. Anyway, they’re real nice. They can be a little heavy-handed with the fire, but once you get past that, they’re real nice. A bit of hot chocolate and some candy usually does the trick.”

“I’m happy to hear that. Sounds like he-”

“They,” Engineer corrected. “We call ‘em ‘they’ because callin’ them a man or a woman just don’t seem right.”

“Uh, ‘they’, seem like a nice… person.”

He smiled. “That they are. They’re okay, right?”

“We left, uh, ‘them’, alone. Still with your team.”

“Thank God. Pyro can be kinda sensitive, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t you worry. Anywho, it’s been a while. How many degrees do you got now?”

“I haven’t been back to school since the Gravel War began, but I’m up to 11 PhDs now.”

The stout man smiled. “You must’ve worked hard for ‘em.”

“Sure did.” Engineer chuckled. “Took me longer than you’d want to know. But let me tell you this: jugglin’ school with a normal job ain’t easy. I can’t imagine doing a degree in the middle of a war.”

“Still, you’ve got more than I ever will, so, you’re going to have to be real kind and explain this to me simply. How does the life extender work? We both know that you know.”

“Now why the hell do you think I’d go and tell you that?”

His face fell serious. “Come on, now, you know it’s for the best. Just tell me what I need to know and we won’t have any trouble.”

“Sorry, partner, but no can do.”

Fred clenched his fist. “You must be confused. This ain’t a negotiation. You’re going to tell me what I need to know whether you feel like it or not.”

“Like I said: no can do.”

He let out a frustrated groan. “I expected better from you, Dell.”

“Dad, stop. You know I can’t tell you. It’s nothing personal.”

“How much are they paying you?”

“Excuse me?”

“I know Mann Co. pays a lot. Whatever it is, I’ll double it if you come join me. There’s only four of us now, so it’d be nothing to split all that money between five of us. It’ll be like old times, I promise.” With a smile, he asked, “So, what d’you say?”

“Nope.”

He crossed his arms. “So, you’d pick them over your old man?”

“Hate to break it to you, but I would. They’re my friends and my co-workers. We’re a team, and you understand what it’s like to work with mercenaries. I can’t just turn my back on them. Not for you, not for nobody.”

“Hmm, very well. I was hopin’ it wouldn’t come to this; it’s a real shame.”

“Come to what?”

Fred yanked Engineer’s arm forward, gripping the prosthetic tightly in his fat hands. Squeezing it near the base, he crushed the neurosensors, forcing some of them into his skin and evoking a bloodcurdling scream from his son. The robotic hand creaked and groaned as it flailed, moving in jerky movements without method. Without the tools available, he was helpless to end the pain.

“Boy, it’s only goin’ to get worse from here on out. You’d be best to tell me what I need to know.”

From elsewhere in the base, a familiar, shrill scream could faintly be heard from within the cinderblock room he and his father were in.

“Oh God, Medic…”

Fred frowned and rushed out of the room, locking the door behind him.

* * *

Holding Room A - Gray Gravel Co. Base, Badlands, New Mexico, USA. Thursday, April 5th, 1973.

* * *

The steel door squeaked open, and in strolled a thin man with a red moustache. “Hello, ladies!” he said, shutting the door behind him. “I see you’ve made yourselves comfortable.”

Miss Pauling shot him a murderous glare yet remained silent.

“Quiet today, aren’t we? Yeah, no problem. I’ll do the talking.”

The woman with the short, black hair beside her sat with her legs pressed together, her hands clutching her kneecaps. She kept her head down and refrained from speaking. Miss Pauling had no idea who she was, let alone why she was there. Her cellmate looked exhausted, clearly not having slept since they had taken her. Mascara smudges ran down her cheeks.

“Hey, lady,” their captor said, tapping her high-heeled foot with his boot. “Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you.”

She hesitated, yet obeyed.

“That’s better. You know why you’re here?”

She shook her head.

“For your son and your husband. They’re not cooperating, so that’s where you two come in.”

“I don’t understand. Who are you talking about?” Miss Pauling asked.

“You would know them as Scout and Spy.” A smug grin spread across his lips. “What? They didn’t introduce you two yet?”

“No…”

“I’ll do the honours, then. This here is Catherine Bradley: the mother of that boyfriend of yours.”

“Joel has a girlfriend?” Catherine asked, her strong Boston accent removing any inkling of doubt from her mind. Taking a closer look at her face, her nose looked a lot like Scout’s; her jawline and cheekbones looked familiar as well.

“Um, yes. I’m Miss Pauling.” Offering a sheepish smile, she said, “Nice to meet you. Sorry for the trouble.”

She didn’t respond, her mouth set into a frown. She folded her cuffed hands together, squeezed tightly in a poor attempt to hide the shaking. One of her manicured blue nails was broken and she had a bruise on her forearm in the shape of a hand.

“You have some explaining to do, don’t you? I’ll leave you ladies to chat. Sorry, we don’t have any girly movies and cocktails for you to bond over.” Opening the door, he paused and added, “If you need anything, call for me: the _real_ Scout.”

The door clicked shut, leaving Miss Pauling with the poor, confused housewife who had clearly never been held hostage before. She had to remind herself that most people didn’t work jobs like hers; she couldn’t expect the average person to know the best way to escape and bury the bodies after. They probably didn’t have an abundance of corpse-grade quicklime lying around, either. Discussing murder was not the ideal form of introduction, of course, so she opted for something safer. “I didn't know Spy was married,” she said out of the blue.

“Gaston? Yeah, we got married two years ago,” Catherine said. “It was a small thing; just the two of us; I’m not surprised that he didn’t talk about it.”

“I take it Scout, uh, I mean Joel, doesn't know?”

“Not really. We figured it was best that we didn't go on troublin’ him like that.”

“Yeah…” Miss Pauling said slowly. “I know he doesn’t exactly get along with Spy.”

“They’ve never gotten along from what he tells me. It’s a real shame; I know Gaston’s had his regrets about leaving. That’s why he went looking for me all those years later. I’m real glad he did.” Catherine shook her head slowly. “Maybe one day the two of ‘em will quit their bickerin’ and get along for once. Anyway, tell me ‘bout yourself. Ya seem like a nice girl.”

Fidgeting with her cuffed hands, she said, “There’s… not much to say. All I ever do is work.”

“You work with my son at that ‘gravel excavation company,’ don’t ya, hun?”

“Yes. I’m the administrative assistant. I manage the paperwork,” Miss Pauling said carefully.

She cracked a knowing smile. “Sugar, I know more than you think. They don’t tell me much, but I know my son and husband kill men for a living; my hands aren’t exactly spotless, either. Tell me what you _really_ do.”

“I… didn’t know you knew. Well, I’m kind of like their manager, I guess. It’s kind of like being a secretary, only a bit bloodier. It can be kind of fun sometimes. Well, when you’re not being held hostage, that is.”

Catherine laughed. “Sounds exciting. More fun than ladies’ night, that’s for sure.”

She rolled her eyes. “Big time. Hey, have you ever been to a gun show? Beats bar nights any time.”

“Nope, never been,” she said. “We should go together once we get out of this place; get to know the gal Joel’s been dating.”

Miss Pauling smiled warmly. “Sounds great.”

* * *

Holding Room B - Gray Gravel Co. Base, Badlands, New Mexico, USA. Thursday, April 5th, 1973.

* * *

 “Son, you should know from last time that this wardog is ready for anything you’ll try. No pain will make me surrender. I am a vault!”

Classic Sniper rolled his eyes. “We’re not even torturing you. You don’t have anything useful to tell us.”

“What?” Soldier barked, sitting up straight. “You’re not?”

“You act as though you _want_ to be tortured.”

A giddy excitement overtook his features. “I’ve always wanted to know something worth being tortured for. I’d sooner hold in my guts and scream at the sky than tell you maggots anything more than name and rank!”

“You want to be tortured so badly? Hmm, very well.” Classic Sniper left the room for a few minutes, returning with a toolbox. Taking out a pair of pliers, he set the box down and yanked one of Soldier’s hands forward. Isolating his index finger, he wedged the pliers under his nail. “Tell me, what is the Administrator planning with this Australium?”

He winced, yet retained his composure for the most part. “The old ripping out the nails method. A classic.” Not satisfied with his lack of fear, Classic Sniper pulled back slowly, wiggling the pliers from side to side. Soldier hollered as his nail came loose, eventually being pulled off.

Classic Sniper held up the bloody piece. “Nice nailbeds,” he said dryly, discarding it without care.

“You think I care about sissy nails, private? Negatory!”

“I guess you won’t mind if I remove another, then.” Moving on to the middle finger, he repeated the procedure. Soldier continued to scream, yet he refused to offer an answer to the question. He managed to remove all of his finger nails yet the man still hadn’t crumbled.

“Hmm, you seem to have learned from last time, Mr. Doe.” Classic Sniper returned his instrument to its rightful place, pulling out the worst thing imaginable. “That, or Bea was just better at this than me.”

“No!” Soldier cried, “Anything but that!”

He shot him a confused look. “It’s just a bucket…”

“My weakness!”

Classic Sniper sighed, taking out a bottle of lemon juice. “This,” he said, holding it up for him to see, “is what you should be afraid of.” After squirting its contents into the metal pail, he dunked Soldier’s mangled hands into it, causing him to lock his jaw with a grunt.

“It’s only going to get worse from here on out unless you answer my question,” Virgil said, holding his victim’s wrists tightly to ensure he wouldn’t attempt to put an end to his agony.

Through gritted teeth, Soldier said, “Do your worst, Sergeant Numbnuts.”

* * *

The Lab - Gray Gravel Co. Base, Badlands, New Mexico, USA. Thursday, April 5th, 1973.

* * *

Sitting at the desk, he scribbled on a scrap of paper in his near-illegible handwriting. The navy ink rolled off the ballpoint smoothly with each stroke, lulling him into a trance of sorts as he got lost in watching the words appear on the page. Medic had always had the blue and silver pen tucked in the front pocket of his lab coat or on his nightstand beside his glasses. Heavy had asked him about it once, to which he’d simply said it was nice to write with. It was only partially true; while it was aesthetically pleasing and never ran out of ink, it was first and foremost his personal badge of honour for having literally been to Hell and back. More accurately, he swiped it from Satan’s desk when he signed the contract for his soul about twenty years ago. Sure, losing his own soul was less than ideal, yet the tradeoff of being able to communicate with birds, keep them alive for as long as he liked, and a getting a nice pen out of it made it worth the minor loss. Since then, he had obtained another eight souls from Team Classic without their knowledge, so it all worked out in the end.

Writing down his thoughts also helped to distract him from the lab. Usually, Medic loved being in the tiled, somewhat-sterile room, surrounded by medical equipment and an abundance of illegally-obtained exotic animal organs waiting to be used. Yet, if there was a lab he could say he hated, aside from some of the ones he used to work in as a young man, it had to be this one. Implanting baboon uteruses in the team and taking their souls was fun, but being somewhere where his brilliance was treated as a liability cast a shadow over it all. For once, he wasn’t the one in charge and his opinions didn’t matter. What Classic Heavy said was the only thing that meant anything.

_“… The idiot can’t recognize true genius even if it were to smack him in the face. Now that I think about it, that’s not a bad idea. A little homicide never hurt anyone. I wish Heavy were here to see me gut him like the pig he is. At least Archimedes is here to watch. I’m sure he’d love to make nest out of his intestines…”_

Speaking of the devil, he entered the lab. Not literally Satan, of course; he was much bigger. It was Classic Heavy. “And what the hell are you wasting time on, Frankenstein?” He peered over his shoulder, letting out a chuckle as he saw the sloppy writing on the scrap. “Aw, the princess is writing in her diary. Isn’t that just precious?”

Medic snorted, clicking the pen shut and slipping it back into his jacket pocket and tucking the paper in with it. “What do you want?”

“Came to check on you, see how you were settlin’ in.” With a sneer, he added, “Place wasn’t the same without you, Doc.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, I couldn’t wait to come back. You must have missed me so much.”

“Oh yeah, missed you a whole lot. Enough of this shit, though.” Classic Heavy crossed his arms. “You weren’t doing your job when you brought that bastard back to life, so now it’s time you paid up.”

Medic hurried out of his seat, preparing for the worst. Turning to face his captor, shoulders tense and hands balled, he glared daggers at him. “I owe you nothing,” he spat.

“You’re mistaken. We hired your sorry ass to kill them.” Lowering his voice, he said, “You said you wanted to test your new creation but, instead, you went behind our backs and brought that fucker back to life.”

“I don’t work for you anymore.”

“Your contract says otherwise and it’s too late to go back now, sweetheart. You made your choice long ago.” A bloodthirsty grin spread across his lips. “You know what happens to traitors around here?”

Medic instinctively reached for his bonesaw, only to grasp at air. A flash of panic came over him and, while he hoped it wasn’t too noticeable on his face, clearly Classic Heavy saw it.

“Scared?” Classic Heavy snorted. “God, you’re even more pathetic than I thought. You’re helpless without that fat bastard you call a Heavy protectin’ your fragile body.”

“When he comes, you’ll feel the _schadenfreude_ from both of us.”

“You think we’re going to let him live after what you did?” Grabbing hold of Medic’s shirt collar, he said, “After your friends killed our men, I think it’s about time you got a taste of your own medicine.”

He furrowed his brow. “You leave him alone!”

“Why should you care about him?” Classic Heavy chided. “You sold them out.”

“Well, unlike you, my Heavy isn’t a stupid brute.”

A fist connected with Medic’s face, sending his glasses tumbling to the ground. “Shut the hell up and learn your place!” Releasing him, the man stumbled back, catching himself on the desk.

The side of his face grew hot as blood rushed out of the broken capillaries under the surface of his skin. He shot him a venomous glare, spitting blood as the taste of iron filled his mouth. Medic wiped it away with his white sleeve, laughing darkly. “Oh, I know my place, but I think you’re the one who should be afraid of me, _schweinhund_.”

Classic Heavy dug his heel into Medic’s foot, causing the man to let out a cry that he failed to keep quiet despite his best efforts. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you. Let’s see what kind of sounds it can make.” Planting his hands on his shoulders, he brought his knee up and forced the man’s torso into it, knocking the wind out of him. Doubling over, Medic let out a wheeze and gripped the desk tightly, wishing his only path of escape wasn’t blocked by the very thing he was trying to slip away from.

“Where’s your Heavy now, Doc?” Medic gasped for air, arms shielding his stomach from another blow. He looked up at his blurry enemy, eyes wide and feeling unusually helpless. He could make out Classic Heavy’s sadistic grin as he drew his fist back to strike again. Medic held up an open hand, as if begging for mercy.

“Too late for that now,” he said, twisting the hand and sending the injured man head-first to the tiled floor. Medic let out a pained groan, trying to yank himself free until Classic Heavy pinned him down with a foot on his chest. “Thought you could get away? Think again, bitch!”

Caught, Medic stared up at the enemy mercenary, all of his confidence in his abilities having left him. He swallowed hard and remained still.

“What’s this?”

Classic Heavy bent down, causing Medic to wince from the extra pressure on his chest. Looking over, he saw the man pick up a folded piece of paper. When he looked at it, he curled his lip in disgust. “Well, isn’t that lovely.”

“What?”

“You’re a faggot.”

“What? _Nein_.”

“Yeah? Explain this, then.” Holding the picture only a few inches from his nose, Medic could somewhat make out the image before him. It was the team photo taken only a few weeks before. Sniper, Engie, Pyro, Scout, and Demo sat with their feet hanging off of the balcony they were sitting on, smiling at the camera, relaxed. Spy stood behind Demo, glaring at the camera with his arms crossed. He looked out of place beside Miss Pauling who was smiling at the camera with her clipboard clutched to her chest. Soldier saluted the camera with a grin beside Zhanna. Heavy was next to her with an arm around her shoulders and Medic was holding Heavy’s other arm with a pleasant smile on his lips.

His heart sank. “We’re good friends.”

“Bullshit. Straight men don’t hold a man’s arm like a goddamn trophy wife.” Shoving the photo in his face, he yelled, “What does this look like?”

Medic didn’t speak.

“Answer me!”

He was still silent.

Classic Heavy lifted his foot, allowing Medic to take a deep breath. Then, as he was about to get up, a foot came down on his knee, causing him to involuntarily shriek. He recognized the sharp pain as a fracture — a shattered knee cap; he knew he wasn’t going to be going anywhere any time soon.

“Have I motivated you to do your job yet?”

He gritted his teeth, tears involuntarily welling in his eyes as his nerves fired on all cylinders.

As Classic Heavy was about strike again, the doors to the lab were thrown open, banging against the walls from the force. “What in tarnation is goin’ on in here?”

Medic looked over, seeing a stout man yet he couldn’t see well enough to know who it was.

“Fred? What the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be with-”

“My son, I know. What are you doing to the guy?”

“None of your business.” Fred shoved his teammate out of the way. “Good Lord!”

Medic tried to scramble away, failing to do so with any real effectiveness.

“Hey, hey, I’m not gonna hurt you, boy.” He picked up the doctor’s glasses and set them back on his face. “There. That should be a bit better now.”

“ _Danke_ …”

Fred helped Medic to his feet, offering support. “You’ve been through enough for now.” Shooting a disapproving look at Classic Heavy, he escorted Medic out of the room, half dragging him. Once they were outside, he said, “Look, I normally wouldn’t get involved like that, but I know he wouldn’t have stopped with you. Consider it a favour because you’re one of Dell’s friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the picture Medic had in his pocket. I made it in SFM. https://corporalfire.tumblr.com/post/159255479861/here-is-the-cover-for-like-father-like-son-my


End file.
